Prequel: Call Us Home

Summary: Honestly, in this day and age, who wouldn't want to become a hero? Well, apparently, for two boys, that was the last thing they planned to do. Nezu just wished they would take the U.A. recommendation.

A/N: This chapter is a separate story on Ao3, but is under the series name Under A Different Sky

Nezu's jaw twitched, but the smile on his face stood strong, even if all the occupants in the room could tell it was painful to keep it up. Manipulation was (supposed to be) a trivial thing; he was quite good at it. Not many people have the confidence to decline such a sincere offer… not many. Perhaps with a… harder shove, the chance of success would be greatly increased.

Let's create an internal dilemma, shall we?

"Well, I understand it's a bit of a surprise to wrap your heads around, but I ensure you that this offer is legitimate." With his tone of voice gentle (and not completely demanding), he asked with a dip of his head, "Why don't you two think about it?"

The two boys exchanged a glance. While one grinned, the other nervously pursed his lips, hands fidgeting restlessly. There was a silent conversation hidden between the lines, and Nezu, very badly mind you, wanted to know what kind of things were being shared.

After a moment, they turned toward him, and the brunet was the first to speak, volume low and soft. "Ah… Nezu-san, we're very honored that you've went out of your way to give us such an opportunity"–this was not the answer Nezu wanted to hear–"but we will have to decline."

Playing hard to get? "You two do not need time to reflect on this decision? I must remind you that U.A. is one of the top schools in this country for aspiring heroes!" …Or they could just be logically-impaired. "A recommendation like this isn't a matter that should be treated lightly."

"It's not! We just…" The brunet bit his lip. "We don't want that kind of life."

Something shifted, and the room seemed just a little bit more smaller than before.

"Being a hero would be awesome and all," the other added on lightheartedly, saying it almost like a reassurance, and the cold calming wave that washed over the principal was hard to brush off as a figment of his imagination. "But that kind of work isn't really our forte."

It didn't sound like a lie (but he gazed into those golden eyes and couldn't help but feel the fear.)

His perfect smile faltered. "This school is just for that; it molds the new generation of heroes!"

"It's not so much the process and training," the brunet's eyes darted to the side and his hand reached up, scratching the back of his neck in uneasiness, "but the aspiration part." A cough.

This was not how this meeting was supposed to go; oh, how he wished life to be simple.

The black-haired boy smiled brightly and exclaimed like it was normal to say, "We don't want to be heroes!" and his tone of voice really didn't match the conversational topic. It was unsettling. For many, what he just said would cause a massive outrage in the media.

("What kind of heroes do you want to be?"

"Heroes? We don't want to be heroes."

"But you two have the perfect quirks for it! Imagine what good you could do! How famous you could become!"

"But we just don't want that kind of job."

"Wow, so selfish, aren't you?"

"Arrogant."

"A waste of perfectly good quirks.")

For humans in this society, becoming a hero was one of the most popular dreams for children and teenagers. Even adults, people already too deep into life to change their path, dreamed of saving people and becoming famous for their deeds. To find someone—to find two children (almost teenagers), with gifted quirks and unrivaled battle sense (and such a good sense of morality), right in his grasp, saying no to a once-in-a-lifetime recommendation to attend one of the most prestigious hero-training schools (from the principal no less) in the country? That chance was just too small of a number.

"I ask you to please reconsider this offer."

The brunet's expression still burned with anxiety, but with the flicker of fire in his eyes, there's no doubt that stubbornness burned too. "Nezu-san, we're really sorry for all of the inconvenience we've caused, but we're sure that–"

"Reconsider." He hadn't meant to say that so aggressively, but with the frustration taking a merciless toll on him, he couldn't help but do so, but if the black-haired boy's smile became tense or if he shifted in front of his friend, just a little bit more, he played it off easily as restlessness.

'Never judge a book by its cover' was never more true.

The brunet didn't look affected by the abrupt change of air, and with a heaving sigh, a pair of loosening shoulders, he surrendered, his auburn eyes washing brown. "May we give our answer in a week?" he asked softly, defeated.

"Of course." The smile on the principal's face gained some sincerity. Letting go of not one, but two potential heroes, wouldn't fare well for both the city and hero-training schools.

Sawada Tsunayoshi and Yamamoto Takeshi were mysteries.

(Enigmas they were.

Two separately-adopted friends with eerily similar quirks? He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't there that day to see the ruined buildings, rubble and glass plastered red against screams and pleas. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't there to see a boy, soaring across the destruction, rockets of sunsets bursting from his palms, rescuing trapped victims–because where the villains were, no heroes stood. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't there to see another boy tending to the injured of the rescued, azure flames alight with concern–and blinding fury because what the victims destroyed, the heroes failed to protect–as it washed over the panicked people, soothing the high wrung emotions with a mere coax.

What Nezu found interesting was that they never engaged the villains and instead, stuck close to where the fear resonated, whether be it in the midst of the destruction or the sidelines of injured civilians, but never in their eyes.)

Enigmas they were.

Nezu didn't like that.