a/n: uhhhh immediate manga/anime spoilers !!! i think. it's about toshinori's mentor (does this count as spoiling myself if i haven't gotten to this point in canon but i'm writing abt it and taking creative liberties???)

also !! it's also in a section entirely centered around mineta, so like. when you get to the end of ojiro's section ["When Minoru's cleaning up like this for Mount Lady..."] skip that. there's a tiny tiny tiny section at the end that's important, but yeah !! if you wanna know what happens w/o gettin into the nitty-gritty, read the italics in the a/n

anyway please enjoy :]]

===

Toshinori is not a good man. Nor is he an inherently bad one, he thinks, but he knows that he's not like how mostly everyone sees All Might as. Following this, Toshinori is also not a perfect person like All Might. He's just... himself. A man. One that should've died ages ago, but a man nonetheless.

On that spring day, standing on that rooftop, Izuku had looked at him with stars in his eyes, with an admiration that leaned towards reverence in his smile. With his black hair, green highlights, freckles, and green eyes, he looked nothing like Toshinori.

But Toshinori still saw himself. Bright-eyed, youthful, looking at Nana with awe, excited that she chose him, of all people, as her student. He was treated with more respect than most Quirkless people were, maybe because of his height or his natural strength, but that never meant he didn't get scorn. Even then, Toshinori kept his ambitions and let them fuel his every move, hoping that someday, one day, he'd be something more than just Quirkless. If that same ambition lurked in Izuku, no matter how small, then...

Toshinori thought of himself, looking at Izuku, very much reminded about how history repeats, and then thought of what Izuku could be in the future if he said yes. A vigilante, most likely, for most hero schools didn't accept Quirkless students and he wouldn't get into U.A.'s hero course. He'd go out at night and do all he could, possibly to spite those who said he couldn't. Maybe he'd get minor injuries from minor incidents, maybe he'd never be caught at all, but he'd catch the public's eye in due time.

At that point, maybe no one would want to stop a small-time vigilante like Izuku. He'd be considered a waste of time by other bigger villains and vigilantes and heroes. All of them except for Toshinori, of course, who'd most likely end up teaching Izuku. Maybe Toshinori would mentor him alongside the next holder of One for All. Maybe he wouldn't, deciding to teach them separately. It'd be horrible drama if it got out, anyway, and he thinks about headlines that dramatize Toshinori teaching a Quirkless vigilante as much as they can.

But then someone like All for One would come along, all dominating strength and true evil and power, and Toshinori would be weak, his protégés not yet strong, and—

(Fire all around them, ash in his hair, heat wild and raging, All for One standing before them, unwounded, Nana with cuts that go as deep as her bones and scrapes that rend her skin off, her smile so uncharacteristically soft as it stretches the cracked blood on her face, and then her hand pushes Toshinori away desperately, weakly, and Gran Torino's tugging him further back, Toshinori writhing in his arms and don't do this, please, Toshinori had begged, reaching out more, All for One's laughter ringing around them as Gran Torino—PLEASE, let him go, he needs to help, Toshinori has to—blasts up in a gust of pressurized air, and they pierce the sky, Nana and All for One far below them, and no, no nO NO NO NO NO, NANA, NANA,

(Izuku would not last a second.)

(...Toshinori should be encouraging dreams, but Toshinori, weak and miserable and just a man, is not All Might.)

—the firm "no" slips from his mouth before he can even think about it further. Toshinori adds to it a little, says something about realism, but he's clenching his teeth, words barely getting through the gaps. His mouth hurts, and he can taste blood trickling up his throat. Subconsciously, he wipes at the corner of his mouth.

Toshinori has had decades to recover, to smile in Nana's place. He'd like to think that he's moved on. But the pain, the fear—he remembers it all too clearly. It's sunk in his gut, condensed into the stitched mess that is his wound, pulsing in time with his heart. He has accepted that Nana is dead, but he will always have to breathe through the pain.

This is the greatest mercy, Toshinori had convinced himself. Izuku, bright-eyed and young and still naïve to at least most of the horrors of this violent world will not go through what Toshinori has. He will only experience the burden of being Quirkless. This is the greatest mercy.

===

(And yet, after Izuku forgives him, after Tommy enters their lives and Izuku gets One for All, after one day he gets the realization that Izuku does not trust him like Toshinori trusted Nana, he still thinks about it. He's always thought about it, this lingering regret, a burden just as heavy as his title of Number One.

What if that Sludge Incident hadn't happened? What would've become of Izuku, of his potential, of his drive? Would—would he still be alive?

Izuku was scrawny and fragile and Quirkless, but maybe not as naïve as Toshinori had originally thought. Toshinori may—no, is significantly more privileged than him, and it shows the more he thinks about it. Izuku's about fifteen, and Toshinori is quadruple that. His time, though still dominated by the Quirked, also had more Quirkless people, with some protests scattered here and there that advocated the Quirkless still being superior. Of course Toshinori's gotten the better treatment.

But now? Now, there's significantly less Quirkless people, especially in Eastern Asia where Quirks originated. In fact, Quirkless people were concentrated in the Americas last time he was there. With the strict social mannerisms in Eastern Asia, standing out with undesirable traits is the quickest way to be ostracized, and what could be less desirable than not having a power like all the others?

It leads Toshinori to this: despite having been Quirkless once, can he even imagine a fraction of what Izuku has been through? Does he even want to?

When he remembers the heartbroken expression on Izuku's face, his guilt exponentially grows. If Toshinori had said yes, then there would've been a huge smile there instead. And yes, maybe all the what-ifs and hypotheticals of all the dangers Izuku would've thrown himself into would've become true, but... Izuku would've smiled then, too, wouldn't he? Maybe he'd accepted the dangers of a hero by then; maybe being Quirkless already exposed him to it all.

...What was better? Izuku being happy even if he died early, or him being devastated but safe? [Would Izuku have died early either way?]

Toshinori can't think about it. It makes him double over, his wound pulsing like a reminder, every beat like a stab of clarity to his mind that screams he is no better than a villain. "I'll tell Izuku later," he tells himself, but the lie is as empty as the disconnect between him and his student.)

===

Toshinori is at his house, one of many scattered around Japan when his wound acts up, when he gets the letter. He's in his weakened form, known only as "Mr. Yagi" to those around this area. The anonymity is gratifying just like it'd been when he first bought the small houses. Toshinori's seen as a kind, intriguing individual to this area, like many of the others, so when he notices the letter alongside some bills, he originally thinks it's an invite to some sort of celebration.

It's not. In fact, the stamp it has is hastily placed instead of meticulously aligned like a planned envelope would have, and the scribbles of rushed Japanese on each side are familiar. "Gran Torino?" Toshinori says in confusion, not after quickly looking around for anyone who could be listening. He frowns, distantly grabbing his bills, closing his mailbox, and heading inside his small home with his fingers itching to open the letter all the while.*

There was no crudely drawn, stylized All Might face in red anywhere on the envelope, so it's not an emergency that he has to hurry to, but he can't stall on opening this. Not like Toshinori would at all, anyway, because this is the first time in a while that Gran Torino's written that badly. So, he tears the envelope open ungraciously, glancing over the first few lines of the... oddly short letter.

Yet not long after, he pauses. It's not just that the writing's shaky even for someone like Gran Torino. It's that his letters are flowing into one another, too, so haphazardly marked that it takes Toshinori a minute to decipher the Japanese, or to even remember he's reading a language. Gran Torino has never been this hurried in... all that Toshinori's known him.

The letter doesn't start with Gran Torino's standard greeting. It starts with:

You didn't tell the kid that you were Quirkless? You broke his dreams on a rooftop?

Toshinori, you've always been a blunderhead, but this is—

Toshinori clutches the letter so hard it wrinkles in his thin, shaking hands and folds in on itself, a trembling mimicry of his want to crumple it and then throw it away. He resists, instead wobbling as he sits himself on a plush loveseat, letter still in hand, and sets his free hand over his eyes. He wishes it could block his shame.

"Oh," Toshinori says to himself, despair so blatant and bitter and knowing on his tongue. "Oh, God."

===

Katsuki scowls, his fingers twitching as he resists the urge to claw through his hair and burn all the gel out of it. He hears a few pipsqueaks scatter, glaring in the direction of their loud footsteps. (It's a moment of reprieve from having to be so fucking stuck-up and smiley all the damn time. Best Jeanist is Number Three for a reason, and Katsuki can respect that, but that doesn't mean that he can't hates this, how he has to be nice and smiling and his hair has to be in this shit style—at least, when Best Jeanist or his students are around. It makes his everything itch.)

He kicks a pebble as he walks down a sidewalk, his hands shoved in the irritatingly small fucking pockets of his jeans. It flies off, bouncing against the road as if Katsuki threw it across water for a moment before falling in a nearby road gutter. With momentary distraction gone, his scalp reminds him of how disgusting and icky the hair gel his hair was practically dumped into is, and his hand twitches again. His mom would reprimand him for being so childish, he thinks suddenly, and his mood sours even further.

His mom would do a lot of things like Best Jeanist is for this fucking internship. No, she has done shit like this. Used to take Katsuki on modeling trips for her and his dad's fucking fashion designs or whatever when he was younger, but when he just couldn't stay still in those weird fucking clothes, they stopped. That hadn't stopped Katsuki's mom from slapping the back of his head and telling him to act respectfully all the damn time, or be like this, be like that, be a little more like Deku, why don't he, even though the mere thought of that lying nerd makes him—

Instead of letting his hands ignite, Katsuki kicks another pebble. It doesn't go far, so he's able to hit it again after a few more steps forward. Imagining it as his restrictions makes his chest loosen a little more, makes him feel a little less like some model and more like a person.

He's always been like this, anyway, like whatever synonym of "angry" they stick on him now. Katsuki respects both Best Jeanist and his mom—he'd be a damn fool not to—but it fucking sucks that they're trying to contain him.

...Is that all this internship is? Just, fucking—unlearning what it means to be himself? To be restricted in how Katuski looks and acts, all for the sake of people being less scared of him? He scowls. Katsuki can be fucking nice when it matters!

...Right? He can do that. He knows when to not be an asshole. He fucking does.

In the pockets of his jeans, his gloved hands shiver with irritation, because suddenly his costume's uncomfortable as all hell. Katsuki takes them out and flexes them idly, refusing to take them off entirely even as the prickles of irritation continue, crawling along his skin like fingers rapping along a desk. Of course he knows when to not be angry; Katsuki's not fucking brainless. (But if these people that had so many years of experience saw that his anger was wrong, if training isn't something that Best Jeanist thinks he needs to work on even when considering the USJ, then maybe—)

"Bakugo, come over here!" One of Best Jeanist's lackeys calls from somewhere ahead. Katsuki looks up, realizing that he'd stopped walking, just staring at his hands. He swallows his apprehension and ignores how heavy his head feels, instead going to the voice in a hastened sprint that only reminds him of how fucking shitty jeans are and how he hates hair gel and how wrong everything is.

===

Tooru looks around, her invisibility partially hiding how she's just wandering at this point. It's a pretty a area with a cozy aesthetic in her opinion. The brick walls aren't something common, nor is the fancy calligraphy written on headings of shops and stores or any of the graffiti hidden in nooks and crannies, so she takes the time to observe. (If it's to avoid the eyes of everyone who notices her, whispering about "Class 1-A" and "Sports Festival" and "USJ," well. No one can blame her. Tooru may have wanted some attention when she first joined U.A., but this type makes her grateful for her Quirk.)

Her mentor wouldn't mind if she scouted this place out a little, right?

...If she's in the right area, that is.

She looks at her phone again, double-checking to make sure that she's at the right place. Yes, this should be the right address, so Toru looks around again. ...And then again, this time frowning.

There's no out-of-place building here. Just these cute shops, a nearby park, and people milling about.

Tooru pockets her phone with a little "huh." She glances around one last time to make sure she's not missing anything before tentatively glancing to the park. She takes a few stumbling step there before walking with more confidence, her shoes making a soft crunching sound when she steps on the park's rough gravel path. Looking around, her eyes pass over some people, settling on someone with fabric skin, strings connecting their limbs, and their phone in their hand.

"Ah—excuse me?" She calls out to them, stepping in their direction. Their head perks up, briefly, before they frown a little and look back down. Tooru's gotten used to not being noticed, but damn does it still hurt.

Tooru has to walk up to them directly. "Excuse me?" She repeats, her voice raised by a smidge, and the person looks through her, then down at her floating uniform. They falter.

"Oh my God, um—sorry, were you the one calling me?" They manage, looking up and nervously smiling lopsidedly in her general direction. Tooru takes a moment to admire how cool their button eyes are before getting back on track.

Tooru nods, even though they can't see it. "I was! Sorry to interrupt your walk, but—"

"You're fine, you're fine! I was just zoning out, I should've noticed earlier—"

"—No, no, you're good! Anyway, I was just wondering if you knew where Viper's agency is...? Like, the underground hero?"

The stranger pauses, their smile faltering into something more contemplative. "Viper's?" They repeat. "Ah... I know where they are—everyone here does—but it's a little hidden."

"Hidden? Um... would you mind taking me there?" Toru smiles nervously, lifting up her unnecessary suitcase that holds three sets of her hero gloves. "I'm supposed to be their intern for a week, so..."

"Oh!" The stranger snaps their fingers in realization, the sound more like a shift of coarse fabric because of their skin. "Hagakure Tooru! U.A. student, right? Okay, yes, that checks out. Viper's talked about you a little."

Tooru can feel her back straighten like a wooden plank. "Th-They have?"

The stranger nods. "Call me Kasuri,"** they say, moving to where Tooru came from and motioning her to follow. Tooru does so a little too eagerly, her head whipping around to analyze everything she's seen around her again as she follows them around. (She's not that ignorant, though, and keeps a healthy amount of distance between them, as well as reminds herself on how she can defend herself in several ways.)

They go into a section of the area that has less people. As the two of them head deeper, Tooru finds herself looking at more and more graffiti art. They're beautiful, masterful things even though some are worn with age, their images ranging from people to things to words and created by seemingly everyone. It gives these backstreets a burst of color that Tooru finds welcoming, makes it seem less like a wasteland and more like a reminder that people have lived here.

And then, Kasuri ducks into a shady alleyway. When Tooru hesitates, they only beckon her to follow, and she really, really, really shouldn't give them that much trust. So she doesn't, staying outside the alleyway because she knows how this goes, and Kasuri gives them a smile that tells her that this was kind of a test to see if she was that naïve or something, and Tooru has passed.

"Kasuri speaking," they say to literally nothing. "I've found your intern, Viper."

A beat passes. Then two, three, five, and Tooru starts wondering—

"Your proof?"

—why they are here.

The new voice is velvety, though she can tell it's slightly distorted. Tooru looks around, but anyone who is around seemingly doesn't hear. Is this all from a Quirk, technology, or is that their natural voice? Why so many precautions?

"Last time I was in my office, there was a small pendulum snake. It has since been moved to yours, no doubt by yourself," Kasuri responds. Tooru blinks, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion, before—oh, Viper (if this was them) wasn't asking for Tooru's identification. They were asking for Kasuri's.

"...You'd be correct," Viper says, and Kasuri walks out with a satisfied smile. Tooru opens her mouth to ask where they're going next, but then they gesture to behind her and—holy shit—

Kasuri's smile grows as the shops behind her begin to ripple like raindrops falling onto a lake, blooms like watercolor paint forming in the air to reveal the tall structure of a hero agency. Three shops fade away to reveal the entrance of Viper's agency, and two more expand the length of the front. Clouds disappear (were they even there in the first place?) and part of the sky pulls away to reveal the agency's height, and dear lord, Toru doesn't think she's ever been this stoked to learn from someone in her life.

"Come along," says Kasuri, and Tooru is dumbfounded and excited enough to follow without question.