2

Internships were over, and the students were spending the placid days between spring and summer preparing for their term exams.

“Next. Midoriya.”

Aizawa’s unconcerned voice echoed across the ruined cityscape. Seemingly without a care in the world, class 1-A’s homeroom teacher peered up through his long, unkempt hair at a group of his students. The kids perched on the third floor of a building that was on the verge of collapse.

“Okay,” came the nervous reply from Izuku Midoriya, a freckled boy with an unruly mop of hair and distinctly plain features. “Good luck, Deku!” Ochaco Uraraka’s face poked out from within the line of girls behind Midoriya. At Uraraka’s smile and cheery encouragement, he turned bright red, murmured “Mhm!” and stepped into a tube leading to the ground below. The emergency chute warped under Midoriya’s weight as he slid down; the perfect tool for evacuating tall buildings, it was as simple to use as any playground slide.

This was U.A. High School, and class 1-A of the school’s Hero Course was in the midst of Basic Hero Training. Their sprawling campus was home to a number of facilities, including a stadium that could seat tens of thousands and even the Unforeseen Simulation Joint—U.S.J. for short—which provided heroes in training with simulations of myriad natural disasters. The League of Villains had attacked U.S.J. recently, and memories of the incident were fresh in the students’ minds as they drilled in a derelict urban zone, also on school grounds.

The advent of Quirks seemed like some ancient happening, but it was still relatively recent history. At the start, people viewed the rare special abilities as supernatural phenomena. Miracles on earth, even. However, the extraordinary became increasingly ordinary over the generations, until about 80 percent of the population possessed what had come to be called Quirks. Sadly, there was never a shortage of those who opted to use those powers for evil. Crime surged. Chaos reigned. Law and order crumbled. But it didn’t take long for a different breed of empowered individuals to fight back and protect society from those who would menace it.

Heroes.

Guardians of the meek, foils to the mighty, agents of justice. A profession that humanity could only dream of in ages past left the realm of fantasy and became reality. With public support, those early heroes gained legal rights of their own along with official systems to govern them. Nations compensated heroes for their contributions to society, and society elevated them as a new class of celebrity.

Still, it was never the case that just anyone could become a hero, and even in the present, those hoping to take up the cape or cowl would first have to prove themselves qualified. To preserve order in the brave new world, use of Quirks by nonheroes in public spaces was quickly outlawed on principle, meaning that hero hopefuls needed government approval in the form of a special license before they could freely wield their powers. To that end, specialized courses of study and hero schools emerged to teach students the fundamentals needed to earn those licenses. Naturally, few challengers were up to the task, and even fewer made it through the trials of that apex of hero education, U.A. High.

Izuku Midoriya was Quirkless, a rare sort in the modern era. Every hero needs a Quirk, and latent Quirks are sure to present by age four if at all; Midoriya had had to confront this cruel pair of truths on his own fourth birthday. His dream of becoming a hero like All Might—the current top hero—always seemed painfully out of reach, and though Midoriya had never quite lost all hope, his dream had earned him plenty of sneers and scorn along the way.

As it happened, a chance encounter with All Might saw Midoriya’s wish fulfilled. His idol had glimpsed a certain something in the boy and put him through hellish training before transferring to him All Might’s own Quirk, “One For All,” a power passed down from hero to hero in secret over multiple generations. At first, every use of his new, unwieldy power left Midoriya maimed by the recoil, but thanks to his classes at U.A. and lessons from All Might’s own teacher, Gran Torino, he was finally on the road to controlling his Quirk.

“Hup.”

After a moment of near free fall, Midoriya popped out of the evacuation chute.

“Great, boys are done. Girls next. Come on down, Yaoyorozu.”

“Yes, Sensei,” replied Momo Yaoyorozu, diving feetfirst into the tube.

On the ground, the short, lumpy-headed Minoru Mineta seemed poised and ready for the class’s vice president to touch down, but he let out a forceful sigh when she did.

“What’s wrong, Mineta?” asked Midoriya, prompting another sigh from his classmate.

“C’mon, man. Girls coming down slides? That should mean upskirt views! But everyone’s in these dumb gym uniforms… I mean, I knew we would be, but still! No justice in this world when a guy can’t even peep up a skirt or two!”

“Let us know when you grow up, Mineta,” came the retort from Tsuyu Asui, the frog-faced girl who descended next.

“She’s quite right, Mineta. I fail to see how flipped skirts would improve our training. This athletic wear is geared towards mobility, making it the logical choice for an evacuation exercise. No, wait now! In any genuine evacuation, I suspect we would, in fact, witness a number of women in skirts. I see… Skirts would add a dash of realism!”

The ever-serious Tenya Ida seemed taken aback at having convinced himself of Mineta’s position, until, with a concerned smile, Midoriya said, “Nah, I don’t think it works that way.” Midoriya had been intimidated by the overly earnest Ida when they’d first met at U.A.’s entrance exam, but the two had become good friends in the time since.

“Wipe that dumb grin off your sorry excuse for a face, Deku.”

“Really, Kacchan…?” replied Midoriya to the barbed comment. It had come from Katsuki Bakugo, who now glared at him from a few paces away. Midoriya was plenty used to verbal abuse and more from his childhood “friend,” but things had gotten better since high school had started, as Bakugo now found himself surrounded by classmates less willing to put up with his eternal bad attitude. Well, “better” was relative when it came to Bakugo.

“Evac training is just the pits, is all.”

“How can you say that? Any hero worth his salt must be ready to prioritize the rescue at any time! Learning how to utilize lifesaving tools such as this one is key, making this a wholly worthwhile lesson!”

“Like I care. We all got our strengths, y’know? Let someone else handle the rescues while I kick some villain ass.”

“Do you truly hope to become a hero someday?”

Ida’s strong sense of justice was at constant odds with Bakugo’s particular brand of arrogance, and Midoriya forced himself to step in as the spat escalated.

“Take it easy, Ida!”

“He’s not wrong about people having different strengths,” muttered Shoto Todoroki, a boy with an old burn covering a swath of his stony face.

“You think so, Todoroki?”

“I just mean it’s hard to picture Bakugo saving anyone.”

“Try saying that again!”

“No doubt! He’d probably hurt ’em even worse!” agreed an enthusiastic Denki Kaminari.

“How about I make you my first ‘rescue’ then!” shot back Bakugo as a small explosion burst from the palm of his hand—a product of the nitroglycerin-like sweat afforded him by his Quirk.

The last of the girls had popped out of the chute. Some stared at the squabbling boys, shocked and dismissive, while others moved in to stop the fighting. In the end, it was their teacher’s composed voice that did it.

“Have you all forgotten why you’re here?”

The students of class 1-A snapped to attention at the sound of Aizawa’s gravelly reprimand. Their teacher believed in rationality above all else, and the past few months had made them wary of this side of him.

Aizawa’s typically listless eyes opened wide in a flash of red. The man also went by “Erasure Hero: Eraser Head,” as his Quirk allowed him to “erase” other Quirks; whomever he stared at would have their Quirk nullified until the next time Aizawa blinked. Not very famous as far as professional heroes went, he made a point of avoiding media exposure, lest it interfere with his work.

The kids piped down, and the energy left Aizawa’s eyes.

“Different strengths or not, excuses like that won’t cut it once you’re on the scene. Pro heroes willingly do whatever they can to help.”

He scanned his students and continued.

“When the police and rescue teams can’t make it in time, it’s up to you to point evacuees towards safety.”

“Isn’t is faster to save them for real, instead of just guiding them or whatever?”

One sleeve of Toru Hagakure’s gym uniform curved upward, indicating a raised hand. Her Quirk made her invisible, so her clothing always appeared to be floating in midair.

“I believe Sensei is referring to mass evacuations?”

Aizawa confirmed Yaoyorozu’s suspicion with a curt nod and went on.

“Exactly. Saving one or two people is one thing, but these rescue tools are invaluable when dealing with a larger group. You don’t want to find yourselves lacking the knowledge to use them when the time comes, which is why their basic application is part of our curriculum. Understood, Bakugo?”

Singled out by name, Bakugo uttered “Sure”—a huge concession for him.

Nearby, Midoriya gave a small gasp and began muttering furiously to himself.

“Of course! And I bet we could even combine these rescue tools with our Quirks in order to deal with mass evacuations! Like Uraraka’s ability to make things float, or Sero’s tape… Even Mineta’s sticky balls could be useful. A professional hero should be ready to come up with all sorts of clever combinations on the fly!”

Aiming to be a pro, Midoriya was a die-hard hero fanboy who never stopped taking notes, mental or otherwise. At first, his classmates had been horrified when he would fall into a trance and start thinking out loud, but by now everyone had come to accept his odd habit, Bakugo aside.

“Anyhow, next up is…”

But Aizawa was cut off by a roar from above as his dumfounded students watched a helicopter descend on their position. A massive figure leaped from the door, nearly blotting out the sun as he fell.

“I am here…from the sky!”

“All Might, is that you?!”

The number one hero’s rippling muscles hit the ground and shook the earth. The pair of forelocks shooting straight up from his brow swayed gently in the helicopter’s wake. A broad grin exposed his gleaming white teeth.

“So sorry I’m late, everyone! I was on my way when—wouldn’t you know it?—a pesky villain turned up, just begging to be dealt with!”

“Unbelievable. This was supposed to be your class to teach.”

Unlike the exasperated Aizawa, Midoriya practically had stars in his eyes.

“I saw the news online during lunch! You really caught a bank robber?”

“Indeed, but what hasn’t made the news yet is that another ne’er-do-well was holed up inside the bank.”

“T-too awesome, All Might!”

When it came to idolizing heroes and their deeds, Midoriya wore his excitement on his sleeve, and All Might, in particular, was a cut above the rest in his mind. Like a force of nature, the hero’s mere existence had brought crime rates down. His nickname, “Symbol of Peace,” was no overstatement.

Ever since All Might had granted his power to Midoriya, the two had become master and pupil, but only a small handful of people were privy to this secret. The public was also unaware that the hero’s true form was a shrunken shell of skin and bones, and that he could only bulk up and play the part of hero for an increasingly limited amount of time each day.

“Midoriya, praise is always appreciated, but let’s shelve it for now. We wouldn’t want to keep the chopper waiting, would we?”

“The helicopter? You mean it wasn’t just bringing you here…?”

“There’s no emergency, kid. And I’d never use it just to make a grand entrance. No, the helicopter is part of your rescue training! Prepare yourselves!”

“The H-Hero Course sure is s-something else…” stammered an impressed Midoriya.

After a bit of rescue training on a snowcapped mountain and then by the waterfront, the students returned to the classroom.

“If I ever drown, I wanna get CPR from a chick… Hot, heavy, and deep. Enough to take my breath away!”

“Wouldn’t that defeat the point?”

As Mineta and Kaminari chatted, Fumikage Tokoyami mumbled, “Truly, an embodiment of lustful desires…” from a few seats away. The bird-headed boy’s Quirk was “Dark Shadow,” and it granted him a retractable, shadowy familiar eternally bound to his body.

Aizawa entered the classroom, and everyone straightened in their seats.

“Good work today. Moving right along, we’ll be having Parents’ Day next week.”

The students clamored at Aizawa’s announcement.

“Even the Hero Course has gotta do stuff like that?” yelped Eijiro Kirishima, a stouthearted boy whose Quirk enabled him to harden any part of his body. Aizawa ignored the groans and grumbles and distributed a stack of handouts.

“Make sure your parents or guardians see this. And for homework, you’ll be writing them letters of appreciation.”

At this, the class grew silent for a moment before exploding with laughter.

“Hang on, hang on. What’re we, little kids?”

Everyone began to agree with the outspoken Kaminari, but their teacher cut them off.

“Have I ever been one to joke?”

Aizawa’s rhetorical question returned the room to silence.

“During the class, you will each read your letters aloud to your parents.”

It dawned on the students just how serious their teacher was, and they couldn’t conceal their discomfort.

“For real? That’s ridiculous!”

“Talk about embarrassing…”

Ida shot up above the commotion, began swinging his arms about—as he was wont to do—and shouted.

“Everyone, quiet down! Quiet! Quiet!”

“You’re louder than anyone else, Ida,” said Asui, sitting in front of Ida.

“Oh. Apologies. However, surely you understand why we’re all so vexed, Sensei? Parents’ Day implies an ordinary class that our parents or guardians come to observe, so I can’t understand why we would instead be reading letters of appreciation! Shouldn’t they bear witness to an activity more befitting the Hero Course?”

Aizawa responded to Ida’s self-assured thoughts on the matter. “Nothing would be a better fit for the Hero Course.”

“What do you mean, Sensei…?”

The teacher surveyed his class and went on.

“As aspiring heroes, you’re all bound to receive thanks and appreciation from those you save. Which is why it’s essential to consider just what that entails. Well, not that you all becoming pros is necessarily set in stone.”

“How true! This exercise will confirm whether or not we have the correct frame of mind to be heroes, who must remain modest, humble, and always grateful! That makes perfect sense!”

“You didn’t take much convincing,” laughed Uraraka from the seat behind Ida. The earnest boy’s quick change of attitude drew strained chuckles from the whole class, which was now in a much more accepting mood. Anything was possible in the Hero Course, so they couldn’t very well let this one assignment fluster them.

“Before the recitations, though, we’ll give them a brief tour of the campus and a practical demo.”

“Shouldn’t that be the main event?” blurted out Kaminari, asking the question on everyone’s mind.

“Parents’ Day, huh? And what do we do about these letters?”

“No choice but to write them,” said Todoroki to a troubled Midoriya.

Ida, also walking with the two boys, voiced his own thoughts. “I had my doubts at first, but now it seems like a fantastic idea. Naturally we feel grateful to our families for all they do, but rarely do we get a chance to express that in words. I wonder if there’s a page limit? Too short, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to fit all my feelings into the letter.”

The three boys were walking home, still in uniform, and at a glance, they might’ve looked like your average teenagers—but nothing was further from the truth. Though the public was none the wiser, these three had in fact battled the Hero Killer, Stain, a villain who had terrorized society.

However, only pro heroes were permitted to use Quirks with the intent of causing bodily harm, so by fighting the fiend in public, the boys had broken the rules. In the eyes of the law, it normally wouldn’t matter that their opponent was a murderer who slaughtered in the name of “purifying” society, but the powers that be had decided to let it slide, lest the blot on their records ruin the futures of the three potential heroes.

As it happened, Ida had been out for revenge on Stain, who’d maimed the boy’s respected brother, while Midoriya and Todoroki had shown up to keep Ida from meeting the same fate. Ever since the battle, these three had shared an unspoken bond.

“Wow, Ida. You think you’ll be writing that much…? I can’t even imagine how to start. I mean, I’m always leaving comments on heroes’ websites, but an actual letter is a different story.”

“Is that so? I find myself writing thank-you cards now and again.”

“For what?”

“When I help senior citizens cross the street, for instance, they sometimes send me gifts in the mail. My parents raised me to always reply with a thank-you card on such occasions.”

Though Ida tossed it out there like it was nothing, Midoriya was clearly impressed.

“That’s kind of amazing, actually!”

“You think so? It seems perfectly ordinary.”

Blushing at Midoriya’s reaction, Ida glanced at Todoroki, hoping for backup.

“No. Can’t say I’ve ever done that,” came the blunt reply.

Ida slumped slightly and said, “Oh. I see…”

“B-but that’s not a bad thing at all! Good experience, even, especially for an assignment like this!”

“Yes, of course! A letter is the perfect way to truly make one’s feelings known. Which reminds me… Oh!”

Ida picked up a bit at Midoriya’s reassurance and thrust both hands into the air.

“W-what’s the matter, Ida?”

“How silly of me to forget!” said Ida, pulling an envelope out of his school bag.

“Forget what?”

“I received these theme park tickets from Native, for the three of us.”

“Native? Who’s that?” said Todoroki.

“The hero who was on the scene when we fought Stain!” answered Midoriya. “I wonder why, though?”

Ida removed four tickets from the envelope and said, “As a means of thanking us, I suspect.”

“Why four?”

“Because most of the rides at theme parks are two-seaters? I guess Native was just trying to be considerate.”

Todoroki nodded at Midoriya’s guess.

“We ought to take advantage of his kindness and invite someone else to come along, no?”

“Good thinking!” said Midoriya, jumping at the idea.

Todoroki replied with “I guess so,” which was more enthusiasm than they typically expected from him.

“However, these are only good through next week. Are the two of you free on Sunday?”

“Sunday…? Ack! Sorry, I can’t make it!”

“Other plans, then?”

Midoriya’s eyes grew wide and sparkled as he went on to explain, unable to contain his excitement.

“There’s a hero exhibit at the culture hall! A can’t-miss event covering everything from the dawn-of-heroes period! The stuff on display isn’t usually available to the public, and everyone who attends gets a deluxe photo collection with detailed profiles of those early heroes!”

“You sure are fond of heroes, Midoriya!”

“I’m really sorry!”

“I can’t do Sunday either. Need to visit my mom. Sorry.”

Ida responded to the apologies with a dejected “I see” but quickly snapped back to his usual driven self. “Unfortunate, yet unavoidable. I would hate for these tickets to go to waste, so I’ll simply have to think of others to invite.”

“The three of us’ll have to go another time. Ah, I mean, if you guys want to, that is…”

Todoroki and Ida were baffled by Midoriya’s sudden timid turn.

“Just saying… In case you two didn’t actually want to go otherwise. Not trying to force it…”

At Midoriya’s bashful explanation, his friends turned to each other for a moment.

“Midoriya. Though you possess that incredible strength, you hardly act like it!”

“It’s true,” said Todoroki, agreeing with the astounded Ida. Midoriya gave a weak chuckle and moved to change the subject.

“Um, anyhow, who’s coming to Parents’ Day from your family, Ida?”

“My mother,” replied Ida sincerely. “My father has his work, you know. Will either of your folks be attending, Midoriya?”

“My mom, too. How about you, Todoroki…?”

“Me…? Probably no one.”

Midoriya paused for a beat at his friend’s nonchalant answer, uttered, “Oh,” and turned pale. He was well aware of Todoroki’s complicated home situation, so he instantly regretted raising the issue in the heat of the moment.

The number one hero was All Might, and the runner-up was Todoroki’s father, Flame Hero: Endeavor. Though ambitious to a fault, Endeavor had never quite managed to rise above his rival, so he had chosen a different strategy. In order to create a powerful heir to inherit his fiery Quirk and then some, the man had singled out his would-be wife and forced her into a Quirk marriage designed to produce the ideal offspring. More than any of his siblings, young Todoroki had been blessed with a superior Quirk combining his father’s fire powers and his mother’s ice abilities. As he was the one most likely to surpass All Might someday, the boy had endured brutal training under his father from an early age, and when his mother had tried to stick up for him, Endeavor had taken out his rage on her as well. Pushed to the psychological breaking point, Rei Todoroki had snapped one day and tossed scalding water on her own son, permanently scarring half of his face. She had been institutionalized ever since, giving Todoroki another reason to despise his father.

“Shoot. I’m sorry…”

“Ah, yes. Your mother is in the hospital. Apologies.”

Todoroki brushed off his friends’ earnest words and answered in his usual terse way.

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing worth apologizing over.”

“I’m certain your parents would be delighted to see how far you’ve come, though. It seems a shame,” said Ida with a fervent nod. Todoroki reached into his pants pocket and felt the handout crumple in his hand.

“It’s fine, really… Besides, last thing I want is that bastard showing up.”

“Bastard? You mean Endeavor? You shouldn’t call the man who raised you ‘bastard.’ Why not ‘father,’ at least?”

“Even ‘bastard’ is too good for my pathetic excuse of a father.”

“If not ‘father,’ perhaps ‘papa’?”

“Papa…?”

“Or ‘daddy’?”

The mere thought of referring to Endeavor so affectionately brought a scowl to Todoroki’s face, so Midoriya was quick to interject.

“H-hey, that’s all right! There are plenty of families out there where kids call their parents by name, or by nicknames.”

“But nicknames imply friendship among peers, no? It would seem disrespectful.”

“A nickname? For that bastard…? Not a chance.”

“Totally up to you what you call him, I say!” followed up Midoriya, realizing it was a lost cause. As they rounded the corner, Todoroki stopped.

“Todoroki?”

“Just remembered. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

The boy’s eyes seemed to wander as he spoke. Midoriya thought something must be up but decided to let it pass, waving goodbye to his friend instead.

“All right. See you tomorrow!”

“Farewell, Todoroki!”

“Sure.”

After splitting up with his classmates, Todoroki soon arrived at a large white building lit up in shades of orange by the setting sun. The hospital where his mother was institutionalized.

Though clinic hours were just about over, the lobby was brimming with patients waiting to check out. Todoroki glanced at the scene as he hurried into an elevator destined for the upper levels. It wasn’t his first time coming here, but the boy noticed how nervous he was as he stared at the floor display, ticking up. Nothing could compare to that first visit, though. Back then, it wasn’t until he saw his own hand trembling on the doorknob that he realized how unsettled he was about finally seeing his mother again.

The elevator doors slid open quietly, and Todoroki emerged into a corridor bathed in silence, unlike the lobby below. The faint scent of antiseptic common to most hospitals reminded him of his own recent stay; he and the other two had gotten hurt fighting Stain and had spent a few days convalescing in the aftermath.

Late one night, with Midoriya and Ida fast asleep, Todoroki’s eyes had popped open, and in that cold, sterile silence, his mother had entered his thoughts. The still and the cold were nothing new to her. That had been her entire world for years, now.

“Shoto? What a nice surprise.”

As he passed the nurses’ station, a nurse he’d become acquainted with called out to Todoroki.

A “surprise”?

“Oh. Hi.”

He had half a mind to ask a question, but the station phone started ringing, so he kept walking. The folded paper in his pocket seemed to grow heavier.

Arriving at his mother’s room, Todoroki gave a short sigh and entered.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Shoto?” said Rei Todoroki, turning to face him from the far side of the room. With the barred window at her back, a soft smile crept into her eyes, which opened wide.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh… Nothing, honey. Come on in. Sit,” replied his mother, offering Todoroki her own chair. He sat, and she stared at her son.

“Mom?” he asked, feeling awkward under her gaze, unsure what to make of it. She apologized with a sudden “Sorry” and slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

“It’s fine… Is there something on my face, or…?”

“No. It’s just… I haven’t had the chance to see you on a school day in quite some time… You’re growing up…”

His mother’s eyes twinkled and narrowed, prompting an even more embarrassed Todoroki to cast his own eyes downward. He suddenly understood what the nurse had meant by “surprise”—this was his first-ever visit on a school day.

“Sorry for showing up unannounced.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m always happy to see you.”

He somehow knew his mother would respond to the apology that way, and though her doting mostly made him uncomfortable, part of him embraced it. Being with his mother like this transported Todoroki back to his childhood, when he’d sworn that he’d save her from their tragic circumstances.

His fingertips brushed the handout in his pocket. Of course—the reason he’d come. His legs had carried him here, despite the fact that he knew full well she couldn’t attend.

Was it even worth telling her?

Watching her taciturn son, Rei seemed to remember something and said, “Want anything to drink, honey?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

Suddenly aware of how dry his throat was, he shot up, ready to run off and buy a drink or two.

“No need to leave. I have some things in the fridge,” said his mother hurriedly, before he reached the door.

Todoroki checked the minifridge under the desk and found a few bottles of soft drinks, as well as a yogurt drink with a cartoon cow on the carton, clearly meant for children.

“Look, Shoto. Your old favorite—the yogurt with Mrs. Cow. I saw that they were selling it, so…”

Todoroki froze. He had a vague feeling that he’d enjoyed the drink as a child but couldn’t pinpoint a specific memory. His mother’s broad grin changed to a sheepish smile upon noticing his reaction.

“But I know, I know. You’re in high school now, so I picked out a few other options as well. Take whichever you’d like…”

He realized the trouble she’d gone to in anticipation of his visit, and it sent a pang through his heart.

“This one, I guess,” he said, his hand reaching for Mrs. Cow without missing a beat. “Sure,” replied his mother. The barely sweet drink seemed so familiar, though he still couldn’t quite place it.

The hospital room grew quiet.

Todoroki finished his drink and began absentmindedly fiddling with the empty carton. They could never reclaim the years they’d been apart, which now took the form of the silence flowing between mother and son. Still, the deliberate distance wasn’t especially painful, and the measured silence was their considerate way of giving one another time to think.

“How’s school?”

“Fine, I…”

For a brief moment Todoroki had felt at peace, until he remembered the paper burning a hole in his pocket. It was now or never, but the more he thought about it, the more the words eluded him. His mother couldn’t have known why he hesitated. Her face revealed her concern, prompting him to start talking about something—anything at all.

“We did rescue training in class today. Got to ride in a helicopter, even.”

“A helicopter? Well, isn’t that something,” she said, showing genuine interest and mild surprise. Todoroki felt encouraged and went on.

“Because saving lives is a hero’s job, after all.”

“Mhm, that’s right.”

“We also slid down this evacuation chute.”

“Oh?”

“And learned how to send out distress signals.”

“I see.”

“And then…”

His account of the day’s events gushed forth, his mother beaming and nodding all the while.

“All Might was there too, teaching the class.”

“You always were a fan of All Might, weren’t you, Shoto? But you had to wait until your father wasn’t around to watch those video clips in secret. Remember?”

“Uh-huh…”

All Might had been the sort of hero Todoroki admired as a child, but along the way, he’d shut away those feelings so deep inside that he’d mostly forgotten. He recalled the pair of bloodied, misshapen hands that had reminded him, and said to his mother, “There’s this guy. Midoriya.”

“Someone in your class?”

“Yeah.”

Back when they’d started high school, Todoroki had barely been aware of Midoriya. The latter was oddly timid, but now and then he’d blow everyone away with his power and gusto during class—especially when the League of Villains attacked U.S.J. Todoroki came to realize that All Might had taken an interest in Midoriya, so the son of Endeavor had made a point of throwing down the gauntlet at the Sports Festival.

With burning hatred for his father, Todoroki had set out to beat Midoriya without using his fiery left side—the half of him his mother implicitly feared and rejected. That would’ve been revenge enough, and he’d relished the dumbfounded look on his father’s face during the battle against his classmate. Nonetheless, Midoriya had kept fighting with all his might and zero regard for his mangled body, raging against Todoroki for thinking he could win with only half his innate strength.

“Your power is your own!” his opponent had shouted, and the words had penetrated Todoroki. Midoriya—crippled beyond belief yet still obnoxiously powerful and giving it his all—had been the one to get through to him, pushing ever forward like the heroes Todoroki had once admired.

Midoriya’s white-hot passion translated not into words but rather a sort of nostalgia for Todoroki’s long since abandoned fire. In the moment, it had helped Todoroki forget everything—including his hatred for his father—and in doing so, he realized he’d been shackling himself.

“We fought. At the Sports Festival. He was all beat-up and his hands were practically falling off, but he just kept coming at me.”

“Oh my!”

“So I had to use my full power against him. For the first time ever.”

“Did you, now?”

“He’s something special.”

His mother smiled softly at him.

“It sounds like you’ve made quite the friend.”

Seeing her beaming eyes tear up a bit, Todoroki slowly nodded.

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence. A gentle silence, though, that made Todoroki feel bashful in spite of himself.

“Mom, I’ve got your laundry and… Oh. Shoto? This is a surprise. What’s going on?”

The boy’s older sister, Fuyumi Todoroki, broke the silence as she entered her mother’s room. The two women resembled each other in some ways, but Fuyumi came off brighter and cheerier than her somewhat faded mother.

“‘Surprise’? That’s twice, now…”

“Twice what?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Hmm? Oh. Mom. I’m leaving your laundry here, okay?”

“Thanks as always, honey.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As if she’d done it a million times before, Fuyumi stuffed the bundle of clothing onto a shelf.

“Any special reason you’re here today?” she asked her little brother.

“Not really.”

Just as Todoroki stood up to throw away the empty drink carton, the crucial handout fell from his pocket to the floor.

“Hmm? What’s this?”

“No… Don’t…” said Todoroki, but Fuyumi had already turned to pick up and unfold the paper.

“A notice about Parents’ Day?”

“Oh…?”

“None of your business.”

“Right, right. I get what’s going on.”

Fuyumi had figured it out, just like that, and her brother instinctively returned her smile with a scowl, frustrated over all the time he’d spent in angst, and for what? His mother’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Shoto… I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t attend…”

He didn’t know what to do with the heartfelt apology.

“No, I, uh, just wanted to pass on the notice… No big deal, really…”

Regretting everything, Todoroki wished she’d never found out. He wished he’d never come. Not if she felt forced to apologize over it.

“I’m sorry, Mom…”

“Oh, Shoto…”

Rei’s face crumpled at her son’s own small apology.

“H-hey, c’mon, now…” interjected Fuyumi, in a slight panic over the unintentional role she’d played. But then her face lit up, as if in a eureka moment.

“I know! I can attend Parents’ Day!”

“Huh? That’s crazy. And you’ve got your own school to worry about,” shot back Shoto, referring to the elementary school where his sister taught.

“Nice of you to worry, but I can put in for half a day off since this is a family affair. Plus, I can record the whole thing!”

Todoroki was aghast at what his grinning sister clearly thought was a brilliant idea.

“This isn’t like Sports Day with the little kids you teach.”

“Oh? Don’t want me to? I’m telling you, though, there are plenty of camcorders in the room when my kids have Parents’ Day.”

“Why not, then…?” said their mother, before Todoroki could tell his sister off for comparing him, a high schooler, to her ankle biters. Apparently Rei had been delighted with Fuyumi’s idea, as her beaming face had clouded over when her son protested. Todoroki was at a loss for words. He hated this plan, but he couldn’t very well break his mother’s heart.

“I’d have to check with my school…”

A strained concession through gritted teeth. It was nearly dinnertime, so Todoroki and Fuyumi left the room and started down the corridor.

“Your homeroom teacher is…Aizawa, right?”

“Yeah…”

“What’s the matter, Mister Grumpy? Oh, I know… Why not have Dad attend instead?”

“Don’t you breathe a word to him.”

“But…”

“Just. Don’t.”

Fuyumi’s face twisted in grief for her bullheaded brother, but it didn’t take long for her usual smile to return.

“Oh, fine.”

While waiting for the elevator, she noticed just how grim and forlorn Todoroki was looking.

“You hate the camcorder idea that much? Would anything convince you?”

“Yeah, I hate it, but it’s more than that,” replied her brother, lifting his head.

“What, then?”

“I knew all along she couldn’t go, so she never should’ve had to find out in the first place.”

“Ah. That,” said Fuyumi with an easy smile, bopping Todoroki on the head.

“What the hell?”

“Listen. There’s no parent out there who wouldn’t be thrilled to learn their child actually thinks about them. Mom might feel terrible about not being able to go, but I know she was glad you came to tell her anyway. Remember, it’s not just your first Parents’ Day notice. In a way, it’s hers, too.”

Todoroki saw the wisdom in his sister’s words. “You ought to be a teacher or something.”

“You don’t say?”

Todoroki tried to hide his embarrassment, but his sister gave him another bop on the head anyway. The elevator announced its arrival with a ding. The doors opened.

“Shoto? Better get in, or I’m leaving you behind,” said Fuyumi, prompting Todoroki to hop over the threshold. His sister, there on the day of? With a camcorder? Mortifying, to be sure, but a small price to pay to make his mother happy.