Two days later, Izuku walked through U.A.'s corridors with a mission burning in his chest and a ruined hero costume stuffed into his school bag.
The suit looked like someone had fed it through a wood chipper and then set the wood chipper on fire. Burn marks covered the torso. The right sleeve had been torn clean off during his tumble through a cubicle wall. The domino mask had a crack running through the left lens that made the HUD display error messages in Japanese, English, and what might have been angry German. The escrima holsters had melted partially into the back fabric, creating a lump that made sitting uncomfortable.
Bakugo's explosions. A gift that kept on giving.
Hano's words from two nights ago still rattled around in Izuku's skull like loose change in a dryer. Pride's for idiots who can afford to lose. Fight smarter, not harder. You don't beat Bakugo by becoming Bakugo.
The old bastard was right, of course. He usually was. That's what made him so annoying.
Izuku had spent the past forty-eight hours mentally cataloging his classmates the way a gamer would analyze raid members. Understanding your party composition mattered. Knowing who filled what role could mean the difference between victory and getting your face blown off by an angry Pomeranian with explosion sweat.
Bakugo and Kirishima? Pure berserkers. Tanks. Guys who charged straight into danger and absorbed punishment like sponges. Their strategy was "hit things until they stopped moving," and honestly, sometimes that worked great. Sometimes it got you killed. Depended on the boss.
Jiro was a bard. Her real value was reconnaissance and information gathering. She made everyone else better just by being in the party.
Toru? Assassin. Obvious choice. Permanent invisibility meant she could position anywhere, strike from any angle, and vanish before anyone knew what happened.
The fact that she wanted to be a spotlight hero instead of embracing her natural stealth build was endearing but tactically questionable.
Momo and Todoroki, though.
Those two weren't party members. They were cheat codes.
Momo could create literally anything she understood at the molecular level.
Oh, you need a specific tool for this exact situation? Let me just materialize it from my body fat like some kind of magical girl thermodynamics violation.
And Hitomi Todoroki. The heterochromatic ice princess who could flash-freeze entire city blocks and probably burn them to ash afterward if she ever decided to use her fire side.
Izuku had watched her during the training exercises. She moved through combat like someone solving a puzzle that everyone else found too easy. Bored. Almost sleepy. Like fighting villains was an inconvenience between naps.
He respected that energy.
He also recognized it as terrifying.
These were his classmates. His future teammates. And at least half of them could probably kill him accidentally if they sneezed too hard.
Hence the trip to the Support Department.
Izuku needed gear. Real gear. Equipment that could help him keep pace with people who shot fire from their palms and created objects from nothing. His current suit had been good for one fight before falling apart. That wasn't going to cut it.
The hallway stretched ahead of him, signs directing students toward various departments. General Studies to the left. Business Course straight ahead. Support Development to the right, down two flights of stairs and through what looked like a reinforced blast door.
The blast door seemed like a concerning design choice.
"Izuku!"
Izuku turned at the sound of his name.
A floating uniform bounded toward him through the crowd of students, gloves waving enthusiastically above what he assumed was Toru's head. Her pleated skirt swished with each step, and those black thigh-highs he'd noticed on their first day together moved in ways that made several passing students do double-takes at the seemingly possessed clothing.
"Izuku! Wait up!"
He stopped walking and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as she caught up to him. "Spotlight. Shouldn't you be heading to the station?"
Toru skidded to a halt in front of him, slightly out of breath. Her gloves planted themselves on her hips in what he recognized as her determined pose. "I saw you sneaking off toward the Support Department. Where are you going?"
"Sneaking is a strong word."
"You literally looked both ways before turning down this hallway."
"That's just good survival instincts."
Her uniform leaned forward conspiratorially. "You're getting new gear, aren't you? After what happened with Bakugo?"
Izuku glanced down at his school bag, where the ruined costume created an awkward bulge in the fabric. "My suit experienced some technical difficulties."
"Technical difficulties. Right. I heard Kirishima say it looked like someone put it through a blender."
"Bakugo's explosions are very thorough."
Toru's gloves clapped together. "I want to come with you!"
Izuku raised an eyebrow. "To the Support Department."
"Yes!"
"The place where students build experimental weapons and equipment."
"Sounds fun!"
"The department that has a reinforced blast door as its main entrance."
Toru's enthusiasm didn't waver even slightly. "Maybe they can make something for me too! I've been thinking about my costume lately. It's not exactly practical."
Izuku's mind immediately conjured the image of Toru's hero costume from the training exercise. Pale blue gloves. Light brownish-gray shoes. And absolutely nothing else, because anything more would defeat the purpose of her invisibility.
"Your pervert outfit, you mean?"
The gloves flew up in outrage. "HEY!"
"I'm just saying. You showed up to combat training wearing essentially nothing."
"It's not a pervert outfit! It's tactical!"
"You were naked, Spotlight."
"I was INVISIBLE!"
"Naked and invisible are not mutually exclusive concepts."
Toru's uniform posture shifted in a way that suggested she was crossing her arms, though he could only see the sleeves bunch up at odd angles. "You're one to talk, Mister 'Let Me Remove All My Equipment Because My Pride Was Hurt.'"
Direct hit. Izuku winced.
"Hano already yelled at me for that."
"Good! You deserved it!" Her voice softened slightly. "I was really worried, you know. Watching you fight Bakugo without your stuff. Jiro had to hold me back from running into the building."
The admission caught him off guard. Izuku studied the floating uniform, noticing how her gloved fingers had curled inward, fidgeting with nervous energy.
"I won, though."
"That's not the point!"
"Isn't it?"
Toru made a frustrated sound that reminded him of a tea kettle reaching its limit. "The point is you scared me! And Jiro! And probably Ochaco too, but she was busy crying happy tears when they announced you guys won, so it's hard to tell!"
Izuku pushed off from the wall and started walking toward the Support Department again. "Fine. You can come."
The uniform bounced after him. "Really?"
"Someone has to make sure I don't do anything stupid."
"That's a full-time job."
"Yeah, I need a babysitter."
Toru fell into step beside him, her invisible shoulder brushing against his arm as they walked.
"So what are you hoping to get? New armor? Better weapons? Ooh, what about those cool grappling hooks you used with Momo?"
"The grappling line launcher works fine. It's everything else that needs upgrading. The bodysuit couldn't handle sustained explosive damage. The HUD cracked after one solid impact. The gauntlets held up okay, but the kinetic dampening wasn't enough to prevent bruising on my knuckles."
"You sound like you're writing a review."
"I basically am. The Support Department needs feedback to improve their designs."
Toru's glove reached out and poked his cheek. "You're such a nerd sometimes."
"Says the girl who can name every Pro Hero's costume designer from the past decade."
"That's different! That's fashion!"
"It's the same exact thing with prettier packaging."
They descended the stairs toward the Support Department, and the air changed noticeably. It smelled like machine oil, burned metal, and something vaguely chemical that made Izuku's nose twitch. The lighting grew harsher, fluorescent bulbs humming overhead as they approached the infamous blast door.
Someone had taped a sign to it: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. SERIOUSLY. WE MEAN IT THIS TIME.
Toru's uniform shifted nervously. "That's reassuring."
"At least they're honest about the danger."
"Should we knock?"
Izuku studied the door. It was thick steel, reinforced with what looked like additional plating welded haphazardly around the edges. Scorch marks decorated the surface in abstract patterns that suggested regular exposure to small explosions.
"I'm not sure knocking would be audible through six inches of metal."
"There's a button." Toru pointed to a small panel on the wall that looked like an intercom system. Burn marks surrounded it too.
Izuku reached for the button.
The floor shook.
"Did you feel that?"
"I felt that."
A muffled shout came from somewhere beyond the blast door.
Another tremor. Stronger this time.
Izuku grabbed Toru's arm and pulled her a few steps back from the door. "Maybe we should—"
"HATSUME!"