Thorny Path of a Pro-Hero

The students of U.A. had free access to the city, of course. So, I had already scouted a nearby agricultural supply store and bought a shovel, a bucket, and work gloves.

My "stash" was also long prepared.

The more challenging part was choosing the right spot to bury this "stash." It had to be not too far, but not too close, not too obvious so that it wouldn't be found prematurely, but also not too hidden, so the whole plan wouldn't be wasted.

I thought about it for a long time and eventually chose our sports field, right at the edge under a cheerful blue net. It was literally beneath the windows of the Academy, but it was still dark, and I hoped I could finish before any students showed up.

As for the fear of being noticed... oh, I knew I would be. But not by the students, by the teachers. There were cameras everywhere, robots constantly roaming and cleaning, and surely Hound Dog was watching all of us. But I couldn't do anything about that. I could only hope that Dog wouldn't sniff out non-existent explosives or drugs, and neither he nor anyone else would bother to dig.

The location of my digging, in itself, suggested there was nothing suspicious going on, and there was no campus rule against digging on the sports field—I checked! The main thing was to do it far enough from the center and deep enough that someone like Bakugo wouldn’t ruin my work with his own explosion.

And thanks to the convenient location, I could check every day to make sure no one messed with it before the time came.

However, if the "stash" did get unearthed prematurely, no one would understand what it was about, and I wouldn’t get in trouble—might even get praised.

In any case, good job, brain. I’ll buy you a hat.

It even made me wonder: has any other student ever done something like this before? Aizawa, maybe… but I had more opportunities.

After burying my small load and smoothing out the ground as best I could, I headed back to the dorm, sweaty but satisfied, throwing the shovel over my shoulder, covered in dirt, dust, and bathed in the pompous rays of the rising sun.

A yawning and disheveled Setsuna, heading to the bathroom, hiccupped.

“Are you a gardener now?”

I grinned.

“You haven't seen the other guy.”

“Is there someone else crazy enough to... wait. Shovel. Niren, did you bury someone? Niren!”

I silently smiled and walked past.

Setsuna froze in the hallway, wringing her hands, torn between looking at me and the bathroom door in agony.

“Niren, Niren, tell me you’re joking! I can’t run after you and go to the bathroom at the same time! I’m going to burst, either from curiosity or...”

“Actually, you can,” I yawned, opening my room door.

“Oh, right…”

***

Morning positivity—it all worked out, all according to plan so far! I would have loved to start the day with some fun fistfights or obstacle courses to let loose.

But alas, our first lesson with All Might was scheduled for one o’clock, after lunch. However, it would take up the last three periods, so mentally I was already rubbing my hands together, eager to get my hands on my costume.

Not being born with either engineering or artistic talent, I had developed an even more valuable trait—methodicalness. So, before scribbling out my own armor sketches and designs, I studied plenty of existing options from the catalog my parents gave me as a gift. I also spent a lot of time reviewing successful and not-so-successful design solutions on the internet, and even more time brainstorming ways to enhance my abilities.

For a while, I toyed with the idea of a mechanical glove, like an exoskeleton arm, which could, theoretically, allow me to amplify my marker if I applied it to the inside of a reinforced frame… or if it flipped open like a pocket mirror… but I had to abandon such convoluted ideas.

Even if I managed to invent something workable, I couldn't bring it to life on my own. And implementing such a glove using U.A.'s production base without revealing my powers wasn't feasible.

Maybe in the future, when I fully reveal my abilities, I’ll ask for some help…

But I had to live until then.

Just like I had to live until the practice with All Might. When will this class finally end?!

I wasn’t alone in my suffering; nearly everyone was eagerly anticipating the practical lesson, chatting excitedly or glancing at the clock in frustration. “I think this is the first time I’ve felt such unity with my classmates,” I thought, exchanging glances with a fidgeting Setsuna, who was practically bouncing with impatience during breaks.

Thankfully, our agony couldn’t last forever—the fourth period passed, and we eagerly headed for lunch.

Of course, there were fights ahead, and anyone with basic life experience would confirm that eating before a fight isn’t the best idea.

However, I figured that while I wouldn’t stuff myself, I should eat something. By the time we reached the Training Ground Beta—the same place where I took half of my entrance exam (turns out it's called not “B,” but “Beta”)—changed into our costumes, got divided into groups, and waited for our turns…

Food takes about two hours to break down in the stomach before moving to the intestines, where it’s further processed and distributed throughout the body by our efficient digestive system. So, a salad and a bowl of light (and spicy—I love spicy) curry would have plenty of time to digest. Plus, I’d need the energy reserves to deal with any overconfident classmates.

Besides, the schedule wasn’t made by fools, after all.

In general, lunch in the cafeteria was a joy for everyone. The cafeteria itself was huge, decorated with some kind of Chinese-inspired motifs, with plenty of food displays (buffet style, familiar to any tourist) and long tables seating ten people each. The food was delicious and quite refined, and on top of that, very affordable.

Interestingly enough, the chef wasn’t just anyone but another pro hero... though in the case of Lunch Rush, it was more of a fun fact than a real advantage. He had no useful combat abilities and no battle experience to speak of. With a Quirk that let him cook faster, he wasn’t exactly cut out for fighting.

I shuddered at the thought of being born with such a power. I would’ve found a way to fight even in that case, but still...

That being said, Lunch Rush was a stand-up guy. He built his career helping the hungry in Third World countries and people affected by natural disasters like typhoons and earthquakes. And yeah, he cooked great. And cheap—what better gift for a student than cheap, hearty, delicious food in the cafeteria?

Unfortunately, cheap didn’t mean free.

Toga had no money. At all.

She hadn’t been in touch with her parents since enrolling.

Her parents, until recently, were convinced that the course of shock therapy she underwent in her last year of middle school had “fixed” her, making her sweet and obedient after the treatment.

When Toga told me this and I confirmed it through indirect signs in conversations with her father, my former sensei, I had to suppress the rising dark anger, which had no one to be directed at. It was too late.

If only I’d met her back when I was training at his dojo...

But you can’t change the past.

It’s not that she genuinely hated her parents. She treated them more like distant relatives. Dead ones. Absolute indifference. I never found out whether she forgot to ask for pocket money, they forgot to give it, or they were just too happy to be rid of her.

When I asked how she planned to live and what she was eating, Himiko gave me a wide smile and said a kind Samaritan had treated her to the most delicious treat a couple of times.

Which meant I had shared my blood with her.

In other words, she had been starving for two days.

Sighing, I bought lunch for myself—and for her.

And so it became a habit since that Tuesday. Toga didn’t seem to mind at all, didn’t even participate in choosing the food, and showed no signs of wanting to change things.

I was fine with it too. For one, I was just more at ease when she was right here, next to me, or tucked under my arm (she couldn’t reach higher) in line—if she was here, she wasn’t off stabbing Momo behind a corner.

And secondly, I’ve mentioned that I always had enough money. I spent little on myself, only on useful things, while my parents, seeing my responsible approach (otherwise known as “antisocial behavior” and “not giving a damn”), happily deposited more into my account. In other words, Lebowski had the money, that's it.

As a result, Himiko became my dependent. Considering she tried to sneak into my room every night, bit me, and wore my T-shirts, I was almost married.

Jokes aside, though, I had a feeling that my seemingly altruistic actions had... shifted Toga’s worldview a bit. I had undermined her belief in the universal cynicism and selfishness she had been nurturing. And by doing so, I had taken away the foundation that held her up.

Because of that, she had become intensely focused on the two remaining pillars of her world: me... and the signals from her Quirk. Which meant—blood.

Blood wasn’t fuel or food for her, as one might think. No, it was much worse. For Himiko, blood was literally a drug. Not just the taste, even the smell, even the sight of it intoxicated her, clouded her mind, made her do anything for another dose. I even suspected there was some kind of mild withdrawal syndrome.

Since the day I decided to help her, we often talked. Not heart-to-heart—Toga clearly wasn’t the type to easily open up. On the contrary, she was a very complex and specific conversationalist. I think if I hadn’t just gone through the hell of all the school classes, where I was forced to find common ground with little kids and impulsive teenagers, I wouldn’t have been able to handle her.

Smart overall, very emotional and sincere, while at the same time a brilliant actor and manipulator by nature, she remained naive in some areas and a brutal monster in others, with an absolute cynicism that even shook me.

… So I focused our conversations on what we had in common: how I grew up feeling different and alien, how I never connected with anyone because no one understood what it was like to prepare for something great and terrifying from a young age, denying yourself fun, social connections, day by day, year by year, pushing yourself for… for what, Niren?

What could I answer to that question?

To save humanity? For a better future for civilization?

If I said that, anyone, regardless of age, would just point to their head and twirl their finger. And they’d probably be right.

Maybe that’s why I managed to connect with Himiko in the end. A fisherman sees another fisherman from afar... and a madman sees another madman. After all, only a complete nutjob believes he can rewrite the future and history by himself, right?

In any case, little by little, day by day, I started to understand this girl. Cute. Creepy. Fun. Dead inside. Beautiful. Broken. Sick.

And all those days, I wondered if I could trust her.

On one hand, she was mentally unstable. A “slightly” unhinged maniac.

How could I expect her to be a stable ally in the future war, let alone act heroically, saving civilians and supporting her comrades?

On the other hand, there wasn’t a single instance in my notes on the series where she betrayed anyone. Though you’d think she’d be the perfect traitor.

But I got the opposite impression: Himiko was a loyal and reliable friend to that villainous organization. What was it called again? The Villain Guard? The Order? The League? Doesn’t matter.

On the third hand, she was a genius actress, I told you. Yes, she hadn’t used that skill once all week, but I knew she had it. And what does that mean?

That’s right: even if she seemed to be my friend, even if she got a grip and stopped being a danger to others, there would always be the chance that she was just pretending.

On the fourth hand…

At that moment, I sighed, put down my textbook, and closed my eyes, massaging my eyelids.

“It doesn’t matter what’s on what hand, Niren. What matters is what you think. What does your heart feel, Niren Shoda? The guy who tries to do the right thing? The guy who wants to be a hero... without fully understanding what that means...” I asked myself that night.

And my heart, drowning in the drama of the moment, told me that Toga Himiko was even more of a victim of society than Midoriya.

She needed saving.

She needed treatment... and maybe, just maybe, she’d save someone herself in the future.

And maybe then, I could trust her.

So, another day later, gritting my teeth, I went to Principal Nezu—bracing myself for another hit to my self-esteem. But doing the right thing seemed more important, so I asked the Great Mouse to sanction a course of psychotherapy for Toga Himiko, whose Quirk was negatively affecting her thinking. Which, in turn, was negatively affecting the safety of those around her.

Of course, not having any qualifications or even basic knowledge about how to treat mental disorders caused by suppressing one’s Quirk, I didn’t dare suggest what or how to treat, leaving it all to the psychologist. Or psychotherapist?

But I had no doubt that Himiko needed professional medical help.

I expected another long debate, but Nezu, after listening to me, closed his eyes for a few seconds, smiled, and said, “Alright.”

After that, Himiko was invited for a conversation with the Academy’s in-house psychologist—I hadn’t seen him myself, and I wasn’t present at the session—after which, the next day, Thursday, a gloomy Toga shoved her prescribed pills under my nose. Something with lithium.

I praised her, handed her a syringe of blood, and casually inquired about the safety of the brave doctor who dared spend half an hour with Himiko in a closed room.

Swallowing the pill with the blood, the girl’s cheeks turned pink, and she started telling me excitedly that she had a “boy she liked.” She liked him so much that she was ready to start dating him! So much that she was even willing to swallow those nasty, bitter pills!

And believe it or not, that poor guy and I had a lot in common!

***

Back in the present, during lunch that Saturday, Toga sat sour and grumpy, staring at her fish without touching it. By the way, the fish I had bought for her.

“If you’re not going to eat it, I’ll gladly…” but I didn’t get to finish.

“Oh, fish! Fiiiish. Free fish!” Setsuna jumped in, the kind of person who loves having a good time and especially loves to eat.

*poke*

“Hey, what’s with the fork? You’re crazy!” Tokage yelped, shaking her injured hand, causing the other students to glance over.

With an unreadable expression, Himiko licked the fork, causing a collective “ewww” from most of the table, sighed softly, and angrily started eating her salmon, puffing out her cheeks like a child.

And we weren’t alone at the table: by the end of the week, a real group had formed around our “core” trio of me, Setsuna, and Yui—Himiko, Mina, Izuku, and Momo.

Setsuna had quickly bonded with Mina—they were like two peas in a pod, both bubbly and mischievous. As a result, Mina fit into our group effortlessly, showing no reverence to me or Toga, which I appreciated.

Yui got along well with her “sister” Yaoyorozu, and Momo often sat with us, though she was still clearly wary of Toga (Himiko, in turn, paid less attention to her than to a piece of furniture. Actually, even less that that, since she regularly snooped through my nightstand). Nevertheless, with my encouragement, the fanged blonde reluctantly apologized to Momo, who gave me a grateful look, and the overall atmosphere lightened up.

Unfortunately, I still didn’t sense any backbone in Momo. It wasn’t just that she didn’t feel like a warrior, I couldn’t feel any willpower in her. An elite houseplant transplanted into a public garden, and the moment the first mischievous child plucked a leaf, the plant withered.

What a shame. A Quirk like hers, in more active, more combative hands...

However, in the original story, she was on the front lines, right alongside the others. And if we’re talking about support roles, she’d probably be much more useful in that regard.

Maybe I shouldn’t interfere at all. Things might sort themselves out on their own.

As for me, even without planning it, I’d gotten pretty close with Midoriya. We even ate together regularly. We often had things to discuss—after exchanging notebooks, we constantly talked about different heroes, the pros and cons of various Quirks, and so on. Yui would sometimes join us, asking questions here and there. Midoriya had completely stopped treating me like a senior and would sometimes even argue with me in raised tones, only to get flustered afterward.

Himiko, of course, was always tagging along like a shadow, sometimes sullenly bickering with Setsuna and other times lazily spooking Midoriya. It seemed like she enjoyed interacting with people like this. No masks, no pretending.

Whenever Toga crossed a line, I’d gently rein her in, trying to explain why. The green-haired boy, meanwhile, observed our duo with curiosity, managing to hold his ground and even occasionally attempting to argue with Himiko, though he quickly got nervous and faltered as he spoke.

Still, for just one week of school, his progress was impressive.

I even stumbled in my thoughts when an idea came to me—a hypothesis, a possible explanation: if his Quirk, One for All, accumulates the physical strength of its user and passes it on to the next, is it possible that the accumulation isn’t limited to just strength? Obviously, All Might was faster, tougher, healthier, and probably smarter than any normal person, so the accumulation of all these traits was almost a proven fact.

However, could it also be that the Quirk accumulates psychological resilience? Personality traits? Willpower?

If so, that would explain a lot.

Meanwhile, a grumbling Setsuna made a grab for my food, failed, spilled Mina’s tea, got a smack on the head, knocked Midoriya’s curry bowl out of his hands, prompting a shriek of “Sorry, Lunch Rush-san! Sorry! I’ll clean it up!” and, in an attempt to escape my well-deserved flick of justice, hid behind Yui, who was calmly and meticulously eating her salad.

“Can I poke her with a fork again?” Himiko mumbled questioningly.

“Just imagine this fish is Setsuna and poke the fish,” I suggested.

“Heh… heh-heh-heh…”

“Mama…” Setsuna whined playfully. “I’m scared of her, Niren! You’ll protect me, right? Right?”

“Of course,” I smiled kindly. “Right after I give you a flick.”

“You’re eeevil….”

***

After lunch, we eagerly piled back into the classroom. I lazily wondered where exactly our costumes were. On one hand, they should be easily accessible, but on the other, there had to be some kind of safety measure so none of us could grab them on our own. Hmm…

And then…

A growing noise echoed through the hallway, one that every single person in our society could recognize... was that…?!

Midoriya reacted instantly, smiling and turning toward the doorway.

“I… enter the room like a normal person!”

In stepped a towering, over two-meter-tall, heavily muscled blonde in a red hero suit with a cape. In addition to his square jaw—one that would do any Western movie actor proud—his face featured a constant broad smile that instilled confidence in anyone, and his head sported a distinctive “bunny ear” hairstyle with two strands gelled upright in a vertical position.

Setsuna and I burst out laughing at his line, slightly ruining the moment.

But still, how cool is he?! A human mountain. An icon, a legend, a true Superman without any nonsense like laser eyes or kryptonite… and he’s still capable of self-irony! Even if it’s a bit cringey, it’s still…

Our classmates buzzed with excitement, thrilled that All Might was really our teacher, discussing his costume—one of his older outfits.

“Let’s get straight to it! Here’s what we’re doing today!” our elite “MC” energetically revved up the crowd. “Combat training!”

Izuku swallowed loudly, but I smirked in anticipation.

“And for that, we’ll need these!” All Might exclaimed, dramatically gesturing toward the wall next to the blackboard, where there were four vertical lines. Really?

Turns out, yes: each of the lines slid out from the wall, revealing something like shelves with five numbered steel cases on each. My gaze instantly locked onto the one with the green number nineteen.

“Once you’re suited up, I’ll see you all at Training Ground Beta!”

***

All Might understood that we’d need plenty of time to play around and admire our costumes, so he generously gave us a full half hour to change and marvel at our reflections.

When the bus dropped us off at the same, familiar large changing room, we all wandered off separately. I think at that moment, each of us wanted a few meters of personal space to be alone with our suit.

It felt like a kid finding a gift wrapped in shiny paper under the Christmas tree—a sense of celebration, anticipation, hope…

Opening the case, I stared wide-eyed at my beauty.

The suit—or rather, the armor—was dark gray. I decided that dark gray, the color of wet asphalt, would be the most practical choice: least noticeable in an urban environment and easy to keep clean. I arrogantly dismissed the flashy black option. Yeah, there’s a common misconception about black being inconspicuous—but no, solid black is quite visible, even in twilight. The color of graphite, granite, or raw iron even sounds cooler! And again, Pratchett wrote about it, and the Master wouldn’t lie.

The first thing I did was start feeling and inspecting the sides of the suit, under the arms, and at the elbows. Did they do everything? Did it all work? Please tell me it did…

Success! Grinning broadly, I continued examining it.

On the arms—reinforced bracers, additional wrist support, and gloves that looked more like knuckle dusters. On the deltoids—flexible pauldrons with padding for absorbing impact during rolls. On the legs—strong, elastic boots that went above the knee, with a sturdy yet ergonomic sole and massive toes—which, theoretically, would allow me to throw kicks and use second-level enhanced running without fear of injury. For the face—a sleek half-mask respirator that also protected my jaw.

When I pressed a special switch button, a transparent visor slid up, giving me wind protection for running or jumping. Another button pressed, and a segmented helmet unfolded from the back of my head to my forehead, complete with padding inside. Gods, they even made that… Under the mask ran a rigid collar protecting my throat.

Each part of the armor securely fastened in place and attached to the others, maintaining a smooth and seamless surface. Along the surface ran two symmetrical lines, about a finger’s width, barely visible on the matte finish, which perfectly aligned when the suit’s pieces connected.

I hadn’t requested the lines, but I was pleased: the suit felt like a puzzle, an elegant enigma for the chosen few, which I had put together correctly. A riddle just for me…

It’s worth noting that in my armor request, I specifically asked them to avoid using any electric mechanisms in the design to prevent electrokinetic opponents from weaponizing the suit or someone like Denki from tracking me through an electric charge. So even the mask had to be entirely mechanical, using gears and springs or something like that.

As I donned the armor and clicked the clasps on each piece, I increasingly felt the urge to throw myself into a fight and test all of this brilliance.

Finally, fully suited up, I turned to the mirror. The reflection was… intimidating. And slightly alien. A tall, dark figure in a half-mask with light-blue hair—I looked like some harbinger of a technologically advanced Mordor or something.

I pressed the second button on the mask, and the helmet unfolded, hiding my distinctive hair under the matte surface. I was a futuristic ninja!

Awesome! Just what I needed!..

Wait, what’s this?..

Once I had fully suited up, the barely visible lines on my practical, inconspicuous armor blinked and began to glow with a bright blue light. Clearly electric in nature.

The LED lights embedded in the suit didn’t stop glowing, completely ruining the camouflage and turning my sleek, armored costume into a cheap knockoff.

“…”

The futuristic ninja figure in the mirror facepalmed.

Author’s Note:

“Something with lithium”:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lithium_(medication) (especially carbonate)

Illustrations:

So, did you ask for Niren Shoda’s costume and appearance? Here you go :)

Lithium tastes terrible!

The yandere isn’t particularly pleased with her life right now :(

The Principal decides their fates.

The Principal decides not to troll this time. Let them lower their guard.

Lunch Rush—pro hero. Don’t ask what the manga author was smoking or what this character is puffing on through that pipe. Seriously, don’t ask!

Canon!

Or maybe even 'cannon' in the case of someone ;)

And yes: the element of desperate anticipation for the practice session was in the original canon, so I’m not dragging out the book—I’m staying true to the original atmosphere :)