Chapter Text
In the modern age of heroes and villains, the population of people born without soulmarks was even smaller than those born without quirks. For Toshinori, skinny and plain and powerless from birth, the delicate flames wrapping around the simple four-pointed star on his wrist were his only consolation for the extra joint on his little toe. He had no power to call his own, but at least he had the mark.
Tanaka Hiyori, a shy redhead in his grade school class, had a quirk but no mark at all. They were both opposite and the same, and so they gravitated together and counted themselves equally lucky and unlucky. Tanaka would never walk into class to find useless carved into the surface of her desk, and Toshinori would never hear whispers behind his back that he would never be loved, never wanted.
The whispers he did hear still hurt, of course.
His poor soulmate, stuck with useless Yagi.
Worst luck in the world.
I’d rather have the black mark.
He’ll have the black mark soon, it’s only a matter of time.
The only reason it’s not black already is because they haven’t met him yet.
He flinched whenever anyone mentioned the black mark, until his classmates caught on and started talking about it as often as they could. From that point on, it was a simple matter of growing numb to it.
“What’s the black mark?” Tanaka asked him one day at lunch. “I heard Yokota talking about it.”
Toshinori stared at her. Everyone knew about the black mark. Having the black mark was the only thing worse than having no mark at all.
“No soul mark, remember?” she said, annoyed. “It’s not like anybody bothers to tell me this stuff.”
“It’s when your soul mark is a black mark instead of a picture.” Toshinori found himself rolling his sleeve back, just to make sure his mark was still what it was supposed to be. The star gleamed yellow on his skin, wrapped in a ribbon of red-orange flames. “It’s the worst thing in the world.”
“Worse than not having one at all?” Tanaka asked incredulously.
Toshinori nodded. “Having a soulmate is just how you’re born,” he pointed out. “It either happens or it doesn’t. But a black mark? That only happens when your soulmate decides they don’t want you.”
“What? No way that’s true.” Tanaka frowned. “My cousin met his soulmate and they decided they didn’t want to be together. I saw his mark last week, and it’s the same.”
Toshinori shook his head. “You don’t get it. It’s not just about not being in love with each other. It’s… they have to not want you. Ever. In any way. They have to want it to happen. They have to reject you and mean it.” His voice trembled. “They have to hate you and hate the idea of being bonded to you. That’s why your mark turns black. It’s all the hate pouring into it, poisoning the bond until it’s destroyed.”
That’s what he’d heard, anyway.
“Well what about their mark?” she asked. “Wouldn’t theirs be black, too?”
“No. It just disappears.” Toshinori ran his finger along the edges of his mark, comforting himself with the bright yellow and red-orange color against the pale skin of his inner wrist. “If you’re not born with a soul mark, it’s just luck of birth. But the black mark means there’s something wrong with you, because the one person who’s perfect for you doesn’t want you.”
Tanaka was quiet for a moment. “Does that really happen?” she asked softly.
Toshinori nodded. There were studies and pictures and everything.
“Well, I bet it wouldn’t happen to you,” she said. “You’re way too nice, Yagi.”
In spite of himself, he managed a smile.
It might not be so bad, to never meet his soulmate at all. He could make friends on his own; Tanaka was proof of that. Loneliness wasn’t permanent.
But the black mark was.
Marks tended to change over the years, because as people changed, their marks shifted with them in small ways. Toshinori’s kept its components, the star and the flames, but eventually the ribbon of fire loosened and became a ring around the star instead of wrapping around it like a vine.
The morning after Toshinori choked down a strand of Shimura Nana’s hair and took on the power that she had trained him for, he happened to glance at his arm to find eight points on his star instead of only four.
When the revelation proved enough of a distraction to knock him flat on his face during training, Shimura sat him down for a breather and finally noticed what he was staring at. “Nice mark,” she said with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without long sleeves or a wristband before. Did it change this morning?”
“Yes,” he said, surprised. “How’d you know?”
She plunked down to sit beside him and pulled up her left pant leg, just far enough to show him the mark on her calf. It was a sun wreathed in clouds, bright golden orange surrounded by pearly white. One by one, she tapped each of the sun’s swirling rays. “Seven of them. They were straight lines originally, too many of them to bother counting. But after I got One For All, it changed to this. I liked that. Felt like I was changing my destiny by taking on this power.”
Toshinori stared, admiring the pretty mark. “Have you met your soulmate?” he asked.
“Ha! You’ve met him! He’s been helping me run you ragged for the past ten months.”
At this, Toshinori’s mouth dropped open. “Gran Torino is your soulmate? But…” His voice trailed off.
Shimura’s grin turned crooked. “But I’m married to somebody who’s not him? Is that what you were going to say?”
“W-well, I mean… sorry, Shishou, it’s none of my business…”
She laughed again, clapping him on the back. “Don’t worry about it! We’re good friends, him and me. Always have been. That’s just what our bond is to us. Soulmates aren't always about romance, you know. The bond means something different for everybody.”
“Oh.” Toshinori glanced down at his own mark again, and was struck by the sudden sensation of pressure in his chest. It wasn’t painful or even unpleasant, but it was a lot. Too much to speak through, for a moment.
“You okay, kid?”
“Yeah,” Toshinori managed to say. “Yeah, I… I’m fine. Just…” He pressed his lips together, still running the pad of his thumb over the mark on his wrist. “I just thought, you know, being quirkless… maybe if I met them, they might not… you know.” He shook his head, embarrassed. “But I have a quirk now, and you and Gran Torino found each other, so maybe I have a chance after all?”
Shimura surprised him by ruffling his hair. “Hey now, you’re more than just quirk or no quirk,” she said. “You are a delight, Toshinori. Got it? An absolute delight to be around. You’re a hard worker with a good heart, and that was before I gave you One For All. You’re still a hard worker with a good heart now. Anyone would be thrilled to be on the other end of your bond.”
Toshinori ducked his head and mumbled something, trying to will away the blush that he knew was taking over his face.
Shimura’s hand stilled, and her smile softened. “It’s a risk, though, for a hero. Especially for the kind of hero you’re trying to be. I worry about my husband and our son every day, and I haven’t come close to making the kind of waves you’ve been talking about. Villains like to hit where it hurts, and the bond is an easy target.”
Toshinori’s heart sank as she talked. Of course, he thought. Of course it couldn’t have been that easy.
“I got lucky with Sorahiko,” she went on. “He’s an even tougher hero than I am, and he can take care of himself. Maybe you’ll get lucky too.” She chucked him under the chin, prompting him to look up at her. “Or maybe it won’t be luck. After all, the bond’s supposed to be someone who matches you. Who fits you. The kind of person who helps you grow into the best version of yourself.”
“The best version of me is the best hero I can be,” Toshinori said earnestly.
“Then maybe your mate will be a strong hero, too,” she said. “Who knows? Flames are promising.”
She was right, wasn’t she? Flames meant strength, determination, power, maybe even a flame quirk. And besides, being a hero was all that Toshinori had ever wanted or known to want. He couldn’t imagine the universe choosing someone perfect for him if they didn’t fit into that dream.
Maybe, he thought. Maybe.
Toshinori watched his mentor bend beneath the weight of grief and nearly break, hands shaking, eyes empty with wordless pain. He watched her cry after she sent her son away. He watched her gather her own broken pieces and put them back together, smoothing over cracks and new flaws that no amount of healing could erase.
He watched her fight with renewed desperation, forgoing rest and happiness in the pursuit of satisfaction that would never come.
He watched her die.
From behind the haze of his own grief, he watched as the cycle renewed itself in Gran Torino, the pain increased tenfold. Gran Torino’s mark stayed pristine, the bond unbroken even by death. But she was still gone, leaving her soulmate with his own broken pieces to gather.
Maybe not, Toshinori thought, clutching at his mark.
He wondered, for a moment, if the black mark wouldn’t be safer.
It happened by accident.
(Of course it did, of course it was a chance in a thousand. That was how things happened when they were simply meant to be.)
Reaching number one was not easy. Toshinori would never be so foolish as to call it easy. But the journey, the transition, the steps that led up and up and up—there was a smoothness to them. There was no wall, no obstacle that tripped him or stalled him on his climb. It was a simple uphill progression, so steady and fluid that it seemed as if he reached its end without noticing immediately. He did not wait on bated breath for the results of each ranking ceremony. He barely glanced at his ratings, at numbers and statistics. He had a job to do, and he did it, and his climb to the top was a byproduct of his efforts. The number one spot was not a finish line because he was not finished.
And so he carried on. Work was never done.
It led him (fate led him, his heart led him, perhaps even the bond led him) to a multi-level bank in the midst of being robbed. A hero was already on the scene, but there were hostages, and the hero was outnumbered.
So All-Might stepped in, because what other course of action was there?
Heat buffeted him as he joined the fight and found the space filled with fire. His alarm lasted only a few seconds before he realized that none of it was burning the building itself. Sparks flew, embers scattered, but the bulk of the flames were under the tight control of the hero wielding it.
All-Might dove into the fray with his teeth bared, not in a grimace but a bright smile. He wove around the flames, taking down two of the villains harrying his ally before turning to the civilians still huddled in what little safety there was left. As he looked upon them, their terror transformed to hope and relief. One of the bank robbers veered close, only to quail when All-Might’s attention turned to him. The emboldened civilians stood their ground, and the villain was quickly swept up in the fiery battle.
No other villains tried to stop him from leading the civilians to safety.
Once they were outside and in the hands of the police and paramedics, an explosion brought him rushing back into the building. His fellow hero was down, the remaining villains poised for a final blow.
All-Might intercepted it.
The fight was over quickly.
In the aftermath, he breathed—as best he could with smoke still lingering in the air. The flames had died down, shrinking back to burn lightly around the hero’s shoulders. After double-checking to make sure the villains were properly subdued, All-Might knelt by him.
“Endeavor,” he said, inclining his head—partly out of respect, and partly to check his fellow hero for injuries. “Are you all right?”
His offered hand was shrugged off. “I’m fine,” the Flame Hero snapped as he got to his feet. “The fact that I’m not grinning like a fool does not mean I’m infirm.”
This startled a laugh out of Toshinori—a genuine chuckle and not just for show. For a moment he was strongly reminded of proud, prickly Gran Torino, and not the frightening parts of him for once. “Of course,” he said. “That was fantastic, by the way. That much fire, and only a few scorch marks on the walls and floor. Your skill is incredible.”
“Obviously,” was the curt reply. “I had that handled without you barging in.”
“I didn’t mean to bruise your pride,” All-Might said, stepping back as the other hero got himself straightened out. One of Endeavor’s sleeves was in shreds, the edges of torn fabric beginning to melt and fuse. “Merely doing my…”
It was an accident. Just another glance over his fellow hero, just to see if he was masking a wound. His eyes landed on Endeavor’s arm, now exposed by his torn costume.
On the inside of his wrist, barely hidden by soot and dust, was an eight-pointed star wreathed in flames.
Toshinori was nervous. Of course he was nervous. He had met his soulmate. He had talked to his soulmate. He was standing in a police station, watching the closed door to the police chief’s office and knowing his soulmate was just on the other side.
His soulmate was another hero.
A powerful hero, every bit as fierce and driven as he was. A hero who climbed the ranks alongside him, driving him to do more, to be better, to be more.
He’d been so fixated on his goals, so lost in tunnel vision as he made his way from one mission to the next, one rescue after another, that he hadn’t seen something so obvious. He’d been so determined never to meet his soulmate, never to expose them to the dangers of being close to the Symbol of Peace, that he hadn’t let himself wonder.
I got lucky with Sorahiko, Shimura Nana whispered in his memory. He’s an even tougher hero than I am. He can take care of himself.
Me too, Shishou, he thought, and braced himself when he saw Endeavor finally leave the police chief’s office.
He caught up easily, trying not to fidget nervously with his hands. “Ah, Endeavor! May I speak with you for a—?”
“There’s nothing more to speak about,” Endeavor replied without slowing down. “The villains are in custody, and I doubt a hero of your standing needs any help filling out reports.”
“It’s actually not about this incident,” Toshinori said. “It’s more of a personal matter.”
Endeavor turned to fix him with a look of irritation. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “Whatever it is, make it quick.”
In a secluded hallway, free of prying eyes and security cameras, Toshinori struggled to calm his own racing heart. What did he have to be nervous about? This was his soulmate. It would be fine.
“Well?” Endeavor asked. “What sort of ‘personal matter’ of yours could possibly be relevant to me?”
Toshinori winced, embarrassed, and put on a smile as he fiddled with the sleeve of his costume. Endeavor’s destroyed sleeve was already covered over, hiding his mark from view. “Well, I suppose it’s also a personal matter of yours,” he said. “I’m sorry, by the way, it was something of a breach of privacy, but an accidental one. I certainly didn’t mean to see it, but I was concerned for you and your costume sleeve had—”
“Get to the point,” Endeavor snapped.
“I… suppose it would be better to show you.” Carefully, Toshinori pulled back his sleeve and showed him the mark over his inner wrist. “I saw your mark, and it’s the same as mine.”
Endeavor’s eyes widened slightly at the sight. His hand strayed to his own covered wrist. Toshinori watched, holding his breath, as a series of nigh-unreadable emotions flickered through Endeavor’s eyes before finally settling.
Not on joy, or nervousness, or surprise. In fact, they had cycled right back to where they started, in cold, disinterested annoyance.
Endeavor turned to him with a flat stare. “And?”
For a moment, Toshinori was mortified at the thought that he was simply mistaken, that the light had been bad or the shreds of Endeavor’s costume had obscured the mark, and it was nothing like Toshinori’s at all. “It’s… it’s the same as yours, isn’t it? Was I wrong—?”
“I ask again: and?” The flat stare turned to a scowl. “What of it? What do you expect me to do about it?”
“I… we’re connected,” Toshinori said haltingly, the smile finally slipping from his face entirely. “If our marks are the same, then we’re—”
Endeavor cut him off with a sigh, short and impatient and put-upon. “And what are you expecting out of this?”
“Well, the last thing I want to do is disrupt your life, but—”
“Fantastic. We’re on the same page, then.” The scowl smoothed back into indifference. “Now, can we both agree never to speak of this, or do I need to have my legal team draw up an official agreement?”
Toshinori’s mouth opened, then closed again. “You… what?”
“Honestly, All-Might, what did you think I was going to say?” Endeavor asked. “I’m sure it’s enjoyable for you, swanning through life with incredible, effortless power and never having to work hard for your own victories, but the rest of us can’t afford to pretend we’re living in a movie. Do I look like some frivolous swooning civilian, sighing over the idea of sharing a mark with the great All-Might? I should hope not.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“It makes no difference to me what you meant,” Endeavor snapped. “I have my own ambitions, and I’m not going to throw them away just because I had the poor luck to be born with this.”
The words struck like a hammer blow to the chest. “I—I wouldn’t have asked you to,” he said softly.
“Never mind,” Endeavor said dismissively. “I suppose I’ve been careless. I didn’t think it would ever matter, but apparently I thought wrong.” He rolled back his damaged sleeve, and Toshinori held back a sharp breath when he saw his own mark, bright and clear as day on Endeavor’s skin.
Tingling on his own wrist made him look to his mark. It was as if the flames had started to burn for real; the edges of the mark seemed to darken and curl like paper held under a lighter. The tingling turned to a brief, sharp pain, no worse than needles pricking his skin. It was over as soon as it had begun.
Toshinori watched as the last traces of yellow, red, and orange vanished. The darkness spread, until his eight-pointed star and its ring of flames were replaced by a shapeless, unrecognizable smudge of black.
“Was there anything else you wished to bring to my attention?” Endeavor asked.
With some difficulty, Toshinori tore his eyes from the black mark on his wrist. He looked to Endeavor’s, just in time to see his—his former soulmate neatening his sleeve back over his pristine, unmarked wrist.
“No,” he heard himself say, somewhere in the distance.
“Well, then,” Endeavor grunted. “Let’s not take up any more of one another’s time.” Without another word, he walked away.
Toshinori stared after him, for once at a loss for words. The phantom burn in his wrist faded, replaced with a numbness that slowly spread through his veins until even the twisting humiliation felt mercifully muted. The black mark burned at the edge of his vision, until he finally pulled his sleeve down to cover it again.
“Oh,” he said softly.
This was always going to be the result. Deep down, buried under layers of hope and stubborn optimism, he had known that from the start. Perhaps it would have hurt less if he had simply accepted it, instead of holding on to some vague dream of future happiness.
It wasn’t a terribly significant change, afterward. He had already been covering his soul mark. The reason may have shifted, but to the rest of the world, nothing was different.
The thing was, Toshinori was used to people leaving, or being left without putting up a fuss about it. His parents were the first to leave. His foster families were always happy to pass him to the next home without so much as a tear shed.
Nana died. Gran Torino sent him off to America. His old UA classmates didn’t keep in touch. David found his soulmate.
Even his professional relationships had a way of slipping through his fingers. His agency’s turnover rate was high thanks to the sheer volume of paperwork he produced. Sidekicks signed on eagerly, only to leave as quickly as they could once they realized that they were working in close proximity to someone who swallowed up the spotlight like a black hole.
So really, Endeavor was just one in a long line of people who quietly slipped in and out of Toshinori’s life. In the grand scheme of things, it shouldn’t have hurt at all. He should have developed a far thicker skin, and yet…
Gran Torino always did call him a bleeding-heart. It was a risk, having a lot of love to give for a world that might not return it.
(And it didn’t—even the one person that the world saw fit to point him toward had taken one look at him and walked the other way.)
“All-Might, your two o’clock appointment is here.” Yoshida had been employed as his personal assistant for all of ten months, which was actually a record since he usually managed to frustrate them in half that time. For example, at that moment Toshinori realized that he didn’t recall ever setting an appointment at two o’clock. He tried to avoid appointments whenever possible, because duty so often called him away in the middle of them. He rarely spent more than a few minutes at a time in his own office.
But if it was already scheduled and already set to begin, then he might as well allow it.
Sitting behind his rarely-used desk like a CEO in a melodrama felt wrong to him, so he forewent the chair in favor of standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with his hands locked behind his back. Should he have used one of the conference rooms instead? His office just made him feel pretentious. Oh well, too late for that now.
Toshinori wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the man who walked into his office was utterly nondescript, dressed like a salaryman and carrying himself like one too. A few bits of flair stood out, from the polka-dotted tie to the bright yellow stripe in his hair, but other than that, he was the sort of man who could easily blend into a crowd. If it weren’t for the fact that his management team handled their own hiring process, he would have thought that the man had come for a job interview.
“Welcome,” he said uncertainly, after the man bowed and introduced himself as Sasaki Mirai. “What can I do for you?”
“I am interested in a sidekick position in your agency,” Sasaki replied.
“Ah.” Toshinori hesitated, confused. “I apologize, Sasaki-san, but my agency doesn’t accept sidekick applications.”
“Yes, I was told as much,” said Sasaki. “I was hoping to convince you to reconsider. I believe that I have much to offer you, if you would only hear me out.”
“I’m sure you do,” Toshinori said uncomfortably. “Truly, I am. But it’s really not a matter of what you can offer me—”
Toshinori was almost relieved when his phone chimed with its familiar alarm. With a hasty apology to Sasaki, he checked the notification. The Demolition Gang was out in force again. Apparently they had chosen a new ringleader after Endeavor took down their last one, and were currently tearing up a city block in downtown Musutafu.
For a moment he was torn. Endeavor was a proud man, and it was likely that he would take the gang’s reemergence personally enough to drop everything and finish the job. Toshinori had been taking pains to avoid him for years.
In the end, his instinct to save intertwined his his desire to remove himself from an awkward situation, and he pocketed his phone with a sigh.
“I apologize that you came all this way,” he said. “But please understand, my agency simply isn’t a good environment for sidekicks.”
“That’s not what I’m looking for,” Sasaki began, stepping closer. “You see—”
“Furthermore, a call just went out for able-bodied heroes near downtown Musutafu,” Toshinori went on. “So I must be going. I wish you all the luck with your future undertakings.”
The one good thing about his office was the safety glass door that led out to the balcony: a perfect jumping-off point to travel the city by rooftop. In one bound, he was hurtling through the sky toward the nearest high rise. He touched down lightly, careful not to cause any undue property damage. It would only lead to disgruntled managers.
“A bit dramatic, if you ask me,” Sasaki remarked.
Toshinori yelped. The man was casually hanging off of his shoulder with all the urgency of an office worker riding the metro, only slightly wind-ruffled from the initial flight. “What on earth are you doing?” he spluttered, stumbling to a halt.
“You didn’t let me finish speaking,” Sasaki said pointedly.
“I’m sorry for your wasted time, but I gave you my answer, there was a call sent out, and I really must—!”
“Yes, a call for all able-bodied heroes in the area.” There was a slight note of impatience in Sasaki’s voice. “I received it as well, and as a licensed hero I must answer. Forgive my audacity, but you seem like the quickest way to get there. Now, shall we go, or are you going to leave me stranded on the roof of a thirty-story building? I highly doubt they leave the hatch unlocked, and unlike you, I have no other way of getting down.”
Toshinori stared at him incredulously. “You’re going to run into a battle without your costume or gear?”
Sasaki looked down his nose at him, which was an impressive feat when Toshinori had about twenty centimeters on him. “I am in my costume and gear.”
There was literally nothing left that Toshinori could argue about. Grumbling to himself, he braced himself for the next leap and carried on.
Under normal circumstances he would simply drop out of the sky and land like a meteor. It was an effective show of force that could end half the fight then and there. But now, with a passenger to think about, he touched down by the police line just on the outskirts of the action. Nighteye released his hold and landed lightly on the cracked pavement beside him.
“What’s going on here?” he asked the nearest bewildered police officer.
“Er, Demolition Gang,” the officer replied, recovering herself. “All of them with destructive quirks, mostly emitters. This has been going on about fifteen minutes. They’ve been aiming for the evacuation efforts.”
“How many villains?” Toshinori asked.
“We’ve counted about thirty,” the officer said. “But—there might be more. Or one of them might have a quirk. They’ve been tearing down the buildings for four blocks, but their numbers don’t match the amount of damage they’re causing.”
There were a few more unknowns than Toshinori would have liked. But duty called.
“Will you fight?” he asked Sasaki. “Or would you be more comfortable with rescue efforts?”
“Thirty to one is poor odds even for you, All-Might,” was the matter-of-fact reply.
“I’ve faced worse,” All-Might said, heading to the thick of the action.
“Maybe. But some of these buildings look ready to come down, and they’re still evacuating people. You’d be negligent not to pull punches at a time like this.”
And Toshinori… couldn’t argue with that. Nor could he stop Sasaki from following him straight into the fray.
This was a bold bunch, he’d give them that. Most villains kept their distance from the number one hero. But the new ringleader seemed eager to prove himself, and the Demolition Gang had apparently been recruiting during their brief hiatus. Their chosen strategy was to charge.
Unfortunately, it was a little more effective than it should have been. The buildings in downtown Musutafu were clustered together in each block, and most of the villains had little in the way of body armor. Unleashing full power ran the risk of adding to the already considerable property damage, not to mention excessive force on the villains themselves.
He aimed a punch to the ground, with enough One For All behind it to blast the nearest villains back with pure wind pressure. Sasaki was already off and running, drawing some of the villains off to give him more room to work. Most of the heroes already present were taking advantage of the villains’ distraction to evacuate the buildings and surrounding area. So—business as usual, in that regard.
Throughout the fight, Toshinori kept one eye out for Sasaki, just in case the younger hero found himself in difficulties. Even when he proved capable of handling himself, Toshinori couldn’t help but keep watching. His fighting style was interesting; in close quarters he was deceptively nimble and strong, moving so quickly that he intercepted and dodged blows before his opponents could properly execute them. From a distance, he could attack with what looked like small weighted projectiles.
Without warning, Sasaki dropped in close once more, as if taking shelter. His hand landed on Toshinori’s arm, as if to keep his balance.
“You all right?” Toshinori asked.
“Fine,” Sasaki replied. “Just need to see—” His face turned toward Toshinori just for a moment, and his eyes were solid black.
“Are you using your quirk?” Toshinori asked.
Instead of answering, Sasaki blinked the blackness from his eyes and said, “Punch up.”
“What?”
“Now!”
Toshinori did so, putting a standard thirty-five percent into the blow. To his surprise, he felt the wind pressure connect. Disembodied cries reached his ears, followed eventually by the sound of multiple bodies landing and stumbling around him. They must have tried to attack him from above.
“Invisibility,” he muttered. “How did they find so many people with invisibility quirks?”
“It’s that or—” Sasaki stopped short to pounce, reaching out with one hand to grab an invisible arm, twist, and throw the unseen villain to the ground. His eyes flashed black again, and he whipped around to launch another projectile. It sailed out at blinding speed, before connecting with the back of a retreating villain’s head. The man staggered, dazed from the blow, before falling over stunned.
In a matter of seconds, about twenty more villains were flickering into view around them.
“They didn’t,” Sasaki said. “They just needed the one.”
The fight was over quickly after that, leaving Toshinori with a clear picture of Sasaki Mirai’s abilities. A skilled and versatile fighter, quick on his feet and easily quick with a quirk that… what, gathered information? Increased his insight? Read minds, perhaps? Either way, a useful power. Enough to make Toshinori genuinely sorry not to take him on.
Ah well. Better not to make a commitment that he knew wouldn’t pan out.
Sure enough, when the danger had passed, the villains apprehended and all civilians safe, Toshinori found himself swarmed with people. First police officers, touching bases with him and thanking him, then a few bold reporters, and then civilians clamoring for his attention. In a matter of minutes Sasaki was no longer nearby, long since shunted to the side and ignored. Indignant on his behalf, Toshinori tried to look around to call attention to him, but the other hero had vanished, and Toshinori realized that he’d never asked for his codename.
Behind his practiced smile, guilt and embarrassment dampened his mood. He’d have to see to it that Sasaki was given proper credit and compensation for this. It was the least he could do, now that his opinion on working under All-Might was most likely soured.
Eventually, Toshinori managed to untangle himself from the crowd. He may as well make a trip to the police station for a stack of fresh forms, just in case the format had changed recently. It was good to do at least a little to lighten his management team’s load.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Sasaki said, smoothly falling in step with him. “I was afraid you were going to fly off again once you escaped them.”
It took all his concentration not to startle again; he had barely noticed Sasaki come up beside him. “An errand to run,” Toshinori said. “You weren’t injured, were you?”
“Nothing worse than a few bruises,” Sasaki replied. “Thank you for your concern. What did you think?”
“What did I think?”
“Of my performance. Did I hold up well in the eyes of the number one hero?”
“Of course you did,” Toshinori replied, caught off guard by the question. Sasaki hadn’t struck him as the sort to concern himself with the opinions of others. “You’re highly skilled and versatile, and you can clearly adapt to different situations. I know that I’m not an easy hero to work with in the field.”
“You give yourself too little credit, or me too much,” Sasaki demurred. “Does this mean that you’ll give more thought to my request?”
Toshinori stopped short, staring at him. “What?”
“To join your agency. Will you consider it?”
“You—” Toshinori stared for a moment more, then shook his head. “You do realize, what happened back there would only continue if you did? Sidekicks who work alongside me get almost no public recognition, despite even my best efforts. I said before that my agency isn’t a good environment for sidekicks, and that’s why.”
“Ah,” Sasaki said. “Is that why you no longer accept sidekick applications, then?”
“The last thing I want to do is hold promising heroes back from advancing their rank,” Toshinori told him. “A hero like you could go far.”
“I’ve never held much interest in rankings,” Sasaki said bluntly.
“You… what?” He was saying that an awful lot in this conversation, wasn’t he.
“That part of the system irritates me,” Sasaki went on. “That a hero’s success and sustainability depends on how popular they are. Struggling to hold the public’s attention distracts from my ability to do my job. Moreover, my quirk is more effective the fewer who know about it, so public scrutiny would be detrimental to me. Working underground is better in that regard, but…” His voice seemed to catch in his throat, and his face tightened for an instant in an effort to remain blank. “Well. It’s not for everyone. I was forced to accept that it wasn’t for me.” Sasaki turned to him with an earnest expression. “But you’re the pillar, the Symbol of Peace. I believe that by helping you, by working with you, I’ll have the chance to do some real good.” He paused, once more the picture of flawless professional poise. “If you’ll have me, of course.”
“Of course,” Toshinori echoed, feeling a bit faint. This wasn’t how things usually went. Usually any sidekick or prospective sidekick that had their first taste of field work with All-Might was left disheartened and disappointed. No one had ever treated his absorption of limelight as an advantage before.
“Will you consider it?” Sasaki asked.
Toshinori hesitated. He was considering this. He couldn’t believe he was considering this. “Your quirk,” he said hesitantly. “It’s sight-based, is it not? I noticed your eyes change during the fight.
Sasaki smiled. “I’m happy to give you the full details, should you accept my proposition.”
“You’re sure that this is what you want, Sasaki-san?” Toshinori asked, feeling his resistance slowly crumble. “I’ve never been called an easy hero to work with.”
“Then we have something in common already,” Sasaki replied.
“Well then,” Toshinori sighed. “I can see there’s no convincing you.”
“There really isn’t.”
Toshinori couldn’t help but smile at the bluntness. This wouldn’t last, he knew. But he might as well see where it went. “Then… welcome to the Mighty Agency, Sasaki-san.”
“My codename is Sir Nighteye,” Sasaki replied, dipping in a short, formal bow. “You won’t regret this, All-Might.”
The handshake was an old habit from his university days. Most people stumbled over it, but Sasaki—Sir Nighteye—took it in stride and returned it. For that reason, Toshinori caught sight of something that had slipped beneath his notice before. With Sir Nighteye holding his hand out, it was easy to see the mark on the back of it.
There was no image nor color to be seen. Only a shapeless patch of pitch-black skin.
Toshinori froze when he saw it, shocked. He may have missed it before, but there was no attempt to cover it or draw attention away. The black mark was out in the open for anyone to see.
“Is there a problem?” Sir Nighteye asked mildly. His tone was nonchalant, but the look in his eyes was wary, almost defiant, as if he were daring Toshinori to comment.
“No,” Toshinori said, releasing his hand awkwardly. “Of course not.”
Something about his new sidekick’s stance shifted, as if he were relaxing by the barest iota. He inclined his head. “Then I look forward to working with you.”
Beneath the carefully secured sleeve of his costume, Toshinori’s own blackened mark itched.