When Izuku returned the next day, Rumi couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the strange cart he brought with him, topped with a series of confusing metal and plastic structures, pieces seemingly disassembled.

"Hello, Rumi," Izuku said cheerily as he closed the door.

Rumi barely noticed him. Instead, she asked, "What the hell are those?"

Izuku mockingly clutched his chest. "What, not even a hello? What do they teach heroes these days?" he wondered rhetorically. Rumi rolled her eyes, waiting for him to get back to business.

Eventually, she responded, "Hello, Izuku, nice to see you again, now tell me what the fuck these things are, please."

"Polite and considerate as always, Rumi," Izuku drawled, sitting down and bringing the wheeled cart closer so that she could get a better look at what it held.

Rumi still couldn't make heads or tails of the strange objects; they varied wildly in size, shape, and design, with everything from a long, flattened object almost like a rubbery paddle to a three-pronged clamp with wires sticking out of it.

Noticing her confusion, Izuku smiled again and began to explain, "These are some examples of prosthetics, Rumi. Older models, mostly, but they might give you an idea of what you're working with."

Rumi squinted harder at the false limbs, feeling surprised and a little unnerved by how quickly this seemed to be happening.

She asked, "Hang on, I thought you said that I wasn't ready to get an actual prosthetic yet. What gives?"

Izuku stood up, skillfully sorting through the prosthetics as he replied, "You're not ready, not yet. Don't worry, I'm not gonna strap one of these things to you and expect you to just magically start walking again. No, this is more of a...showcase, I guess. Basically, I'm using this to explain how you're going to learn to walk again."

"I already know how to walk," Rumi grumbled indignantly, "that's not the problem here."

"Not with a prosthetic leg instead of a real one, you don't," Izuku countered.

Rumi shrugged defiantly, her voice full of bravado as she said, "How hard can it be? Just put one foot in front of the other, right?"

Izuku rubbed his forehead in obvious irritation. At last, he told her, "Not quite."

"What are you talking about?" Rumi challenged.

Izuku gave her an unimpressed look, shook his head, and muttered, "Fucking heroes."

Rumi crossed her arms defiantly, waiting for Izuku to explain why he thought she was going to struggle so much with walking.

Eventually, Izuku sighed and said in a long-suffering tone, "Rumi, can you explain the biomechanics of walking to me?"

Rumi blinked, and her ears started to droop a little. "I..um...bio-what now?" she asked, totally lost.

Izuku pressed, "What about running? Jumping? How about fighting?"

Rumi's ears fell even further as she shrugged helplessly.

"That's what I thought," Izuku told her, his voice harsh but not unkind, "Look, Rumi, no prosthetic is going to be exactly like a missing limb, and it's definitely not going to function the same way. So all of the motor functions you're used to will be different, for your arm and leg both. They'll eventually get there, but you will have to completely re-learn how to walk. Your balance will change, your muscles will have to get used to manipulating the prosthetic, and that's not even talking about fighting with it."

Rumi felt like she was wilting as Izuku outlined just how enormous her task was. Once again, she wondered if she could do it. Honestly, the more she looked at these tiny, weak contraptions of metal and plastic, she doubted that they could take even a fraction of her power. Maybe...maybe she should just give up. She had less than a week until the choice would be made for her, so maybe…

"Of course," Izuku continued, jolting Rumi out of her thoughts, "when you get your own prosthetic, things will be a little bit different."

Rumi felt herself sitting up a little straighter, her ears pricked again. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Izuku responded by picking up one of the prosthetics, the long, curved one that Rumi thought might have been a leg. He held it out to Rumi, letting her run her hand over the broad, flat surface of the part that must touch the ground.

Izuku said, "This is an old pre-quirk era prosthetic that helped with shock absorption and the like. It used to be popular with runners and athletes."

Rumi made a skeptical face as she felt the rigid yet flexible plastic. She asked, "Why do I need the history lesson?"

Instead of answering directly, Izuku countered, "Tell me, would you be able to fight or even jump with this?"

Instantly, Rumi shook her head vehemently. She could already tell that this fragile leg would never hold up. "Hell no," she answered, "I'd snap this thing in half the first time I tried to kick anything with it."

Izuku nodded, his eyes shining in agreement. "What about this one?" he asked, bringing out another false leg, this one seemingly nothing more than a long metal rod with a fake foot attached to the end.

"Please," Rumi scoffed, "I could shatter that with one hand, much less a kick."

Izuku nodded once, and put the second leg away, too. He turned back to Rumi and said, "Obviously, we've gotten better at making prosthetics since then; the technology's gotten much more advanced. Quirks changed everything, of course; now you have to basically make every new limb custom for every patient. When you start getting into hero prosthetics, which basically serve as vital support equipment anyway-"

Rumi's eyes went wide as she finally started to put the pieces together. "Hang on, how much more advanced are we talking here?" she cut in, antsy to get to the point.

Izuku smiled indulgently as he saw Rumi finally managing to get out of her stupor. He replied, "Advanced enough that I'm pretty damn sure I can make you prosthetics that'll be able to take every bit of punishment you can dish out."

For the first time, Rumi actually believed him. Even as she kept slipping into turmoil over her future, Izuku's cocky, confident grin was a lifeline. She knew him well enough now to believe that, regardless of anything else, he was probably stubborn enough to get it done. Even so, when Izuku raised his hand to forestall the anticipatory grin forming on Rumi's face, Rumi quieted down again far too quickly.

"That being said," Izuku cautioned her, "a prosthetic that advanced is gonna be pretty complex, and you won't be able to just stick it on and use it right off the bat. You're gonna need to practice."

Rumi tried to keep her disappointment from showing; she knew that it was just being petulant to be upset about that. She didn't become a top pro by slacking, dammit, she knew how to buckle down and work her ass off. She'd earned every bit of power she had; how would this be any different?

But even so, that deadline from the Hero Commission loomed in her mind, presenting a roadblock she didn't know how to clear.

Rumi asked, "So, uh, how long is this gonna take?"

Izuku's eyes seemed to understand her impatience all too well. He stroked his chin and mused, "Well, I can't say for sure, obviously. The design and work on the prosthetic will take a little while. As for the physical therapy and exercises and training you'll have to do...it could be anywhere from a few weeks to a few months until you're ready. Even after that, it'll be a hard road back. At the end of the day, though, the only thing that's going to speed this up is you, Rumi."

Taking a deep breath, Rumi nodded. She was going to try, at least, She still didn't know if she would succeed, but it wasn't like she was losing anything by learning to walk again.

Suddenly, Izuku frowned at her, his eyes seeming to sear through her very soul, reading her emotions like a book. Rumi hated it when he did that.

Izuku asked, "Rumi, is something bothering you?"

Exhaling with an uncertain shudder, Rumi decided, "Eh, no point in hiding it."

"Yeah," she admitted, "the other day, a guy from the Hero Commission came to talk to me."

"What did he say?" Izuku asked softly, sinking into his chair. His eyes were gentle, judgment-free, easy to talk to. Rumi kind of hated that, too.

But still, she replied, "He said that the Commission has been covering for my absence for as long as it can, but that the media is hounding them too hard now. Basically, I've got a week to make my choice about...about whether or not I'm retiring."

For a moment, Izuku's eyes flashed bright, before he controlled himself again. Evenly, he wondered, "And what choice are you going to make?"

Rumi couldn't help but knead the blankets uncertainly as she muttered, "I...I don't know yet."

Izuku held her gaze for a long moment; Rumi could barely stop herself from looking away, refusing to be that cowardly. At last, Izuku told her, "I assume you know what my opinion on that is."

Rumi couldn't help the sarcastic quirk of her lips that formed as she replied, "Gee, Doc, I don't know if I do."

Izuku sighed, looking genuinely worried for a moment before his face turned to steel again. Firmly, he said, "Rumi. I'm not letting you give up."

"I wasn't aware you got to make all the choices for me," Rumi snapped, her anxiety turning outwards in a heartbeat.

"I don't," Izuku agreed, "but I do feel like you need a voice of reason right now."

Rumi growled, "I don't need anyone else acting like I can't make decisions for my own damn self."
Something flashed in Izuku's eyes, and he snapped, "You aren't making this decision for yourself, Rumi!"

Rumi wasn't sure why, but something about the way Izuku's voice heaved as he spoke, something about the sudden energy that animated him, made her pause. Restraining her anger with difficulty, she asked, "What do you mean?"

His whole body alive with intensity, Izuku responded, "Rumi, you do realize that you're a Top Ten hero, right? That means that people look up to you. There are people who are inspired by you."

Rumi snorted bitterly, "Hah, so what? I didn't become a hero to inspire people or make myself into some kind of idol for people to admire. I did it because I like to fight, Izuku, I like being strong."

"And look where that got me," something traitorous whispered in her heart, a tiny voice she couldn't manage to squash.

Izuku stood, and Rumi was reminded that he was at least six inches taller than her. His voice seemed to fill the room as he retorted, "That doesn't matter, Rumi. You don't get a choice. Even if you never meant for them to, people see your face and feel safe. Kids admire you, believe it or not."

"So?" Rumi asked harshly, "I don't care. All that faith doesn't mean a damn thing when I'm sitting alone in this fucking hospital bed."

Izuku hung his head for a moment, and Rumi briefly wondered if she'd finally won. Then, Izuku looked back up, and she knew that she was never going to win, not when he could give her a look that stubborn.

His finger jabbing sharply at her, then at the door, Izuku said, "Rumi, if you give up now, you're going to have to go out in front of every media outlet in the world and say, "I couldn't cut it. I give up." That's what you'll have to do. Do you think you can do that?"

Rumi hesitated. Once, she would have rather died than give up, let alone admit that she'd given up. But that had been before the mission, and the Nomus, and everything else that had happened. Now, Rumi didn't know if she had given up.

But Izuku wasn't done. He added, "If you go up there and say that, all those people who look up to you, you know what they'll do? They'll wonder if you ever meant what you said, if you were just all talk. They'll think that you failed."

Every word hit Rumi like a hammerblow, because she knew it was true. It was what she would have done, once upon a time. She hung her head, unable to deny it, unwilling to take the risk of changing course.

Izuku softened as he saw Rumi's despondence, but he wasn't going to let up. As long as he was on her case, there was no way in hell she was retiring. But how could he convince her that she wasn't just in this for herself?

Suddenly, Izuku had an idea. It would be tough to do on such short notice, and it might not go well, but...well, Takahashi owed him a few favors, and this counted, he was pretty sure. He asked, "Rumi, would you be willing to go somewhere tomorrow?"
Confused, Rumi looked up again. "Um...sure," she replied, "where?"
Izuku's grin was the most terrifying thing Rumi had ever seen.

"You'll see," he told her, "you'll see."

The next day, Rumi was lying lazily in her bed, flipping through TV channels, when the door was suddenly barged open.

Now, for all that Rumi was a grown adult woman who considered fear to be something she beat up in a back alley (most of the time), she did still have some rabbit tendencies, thanks to her danger sense. And of course, when a rabbit was startled, their first instinct is always get the fuck out.

Unfortunately for Rumi, that instinct manifested itself in attempting to jump out of bed, which only caused her to fall to the ground with an undignified squawk as she managed to tangle herself in the sheets.

Meanwhile, Izuku strode into the room, a vicious grin on his face as he said, "Come on, Rumi, let's go on an emotionally-taxing field trip!"

Trying not to thrash around as her ears dragged along the floor, Rumi snarled, "You're really selling me there, Doc, but can I get some help over here?"

Chuckling as he saw her dangling helplessly in her sheets, Izuku obliged, quickly untangling her and plopping her into the wheelchair that stayed by her bedside. Rumi didn't even bother fighting it; honestly, she didn't mind the idea of a change of scenery.

And if she was secretly hoping that Izuku could find a way to change her mind, well, he didn't need to know that.

Izuku quickly steered her out of the room, and down a winding maze of hallways that Rumi could never hope to keep track of. Eventually, though, she got curious about the changing markings on the walls, and asked, "Hey, Izuku, where are we going?"

"The children's wing," Izuku said curtly as they turned a corner, "there's someone I want you to meet."
Instantly, Rumi's blood went cold. She gripped the arm of her chair tightly as she said, "No."

"Yes," Izuku replied coolly, his eyebrow raised, "what, Rumi, it's just kids, they're not that bad."

Roughly, Rumi responded, "No, it is that bad. I hate kids."

"Why?" Izuku asked curiously.

Rumi explained, "They're tiny and grubby and loud and they always want to touch my ears. Kids are the fucking worst. I'm not even allowed to cuss them out!"

"Why would you want to cuss at kids?" Izuku wondered, trying to suppress his amusement at the fact that Rumi had been more animated about this than about anything else he'd seen.

"Uh, hello? Did I mention they like grabbing my ears?" Rumi retorted, gesturing to said ears with her hand.

"I see," Izuku said as they finally came to a small playroom clearly meant to give the children who stayed here a place to get out of their rooms, "well, I...don't think that ear-grabbing is going to be an issue here."

Now, Rumi was really confused. She began, "What is that supposed to mea-"

Before she could finish, Izuku opened the door, and the two of them entered. Rumi's eyes went wide as she saw the only child in the room, a small, black-haired girl with downcast eyes, maybe eight or nine years old who was absentmindedly pushing some colored blocks around with her hands-

With her hand. She only had the one, her right. Her left was missing, along with the rest of her arm up to her elbow. The sight of it made the stump of Rumi's left arm ache dully, perhaps in sympathy.

Some part of Rumi's mind registered a woman that must have been the girl's mother sitting nearby, along with a female doctor in a long white coat. If she'd been paying more attention, she would have seen the mother's eyes go wide in sudden recognition, only for the doctor by her side to put a finger to her lips. But the bulk of Rumi's mind was focused on that girl, who wore an expression shockingly familiar to Rumi, and yet... not.

In a quiet, kind voice, so different from how Rumi was used to hearing him, Izuku said, "Hitomi? There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Rumi couldn't find her breath as the girl-Hitomi, apparently-looked up at them, slowly and curiously. Her eyes were a shocking, glimmering silver, and Rumi could only imagine how shockingly wonderful they must be to look at when the girl was smiling. Now, though, they seemed dull, though not emotionless. When Hitomi's gaze landed on Rumi, though, on her missing arm, they seemed to spark, and in that moment Rumi understood .

Somehow, Rumi managed to piece together Izuku's plan, realizing that she was the person Hitomi was supposed to meet. She still couldn't find her voice, still stunned into silence by the sight of the girl's jarringly absent arm.

In a quiet, soft voice, Hitomi said, "Hi. My name's Hitomi. What's yours?"

Rumi blinked once, and answered, "Oh, I'm...I'm Rumi."

Somewhere behind her, Rumi could sense Izuku leaving, heading to where his colleague and Hitomi's mother were sitting. Rumi assumed that they were just here to observe, maybe watch the fireworks. That meant that she and Hitomi were left alone in the middle of the room, left basically to their own devices.

Slowly, Hitomi got up from her kneeling position; Rumi noticed that she did it with surprising dexterity, considering the fact that she had to lean back on her one arm and get her legs underneath her. Apparently, she was more experienced than Rumi was in one-armed motion.

Hitomi came closer to Rumi, who got the distinct feeling that those almost reflective silver eyes were sizing her up. Eventually, Hitomi said shyly, "You only have one arm...like me."

Rumi nodded, bringing up her stump without even thinking about it. She added, "Yeah. One leg, too."

For a second, neither of them said anything, as though the understanding they had went deeper. Then, Hitomi asked quietly, "Can...can I ask how it happened?"

Rumi's mouth went dry, and she debated over what she was supposed to say. Uncertain, she looked over her shoulder, to where Izuku was sitting. He shrugged before making a shooing gesture, as if to say, "This is your show, not mine."

Rumi got the hint; she was on her own. Turning back to Hitomi, Rumi answered, "I...a villain did it."

Hitomi nodded gravely as she replied, "That was what happened to me, too."

Rumi's heart caught in her throat, but she kept it together. She said, "I...I'm sorry to hear that."

Hitomi smiled then, a quick flash and curve of her lips, but it was there all the same. Then, she changed the direction of the conversation as only children could.

"Are you a hero?" she asked, sweetly and innocently.

Rumi realized with a jolt that this girl didn't know who she was. Normally, Rumi got recognized constantly even off duty; the ears, the tanned-brown skin, and the brutal smile tended to make her stand out, even in a superhuman society. But then, Rumi could imagine that a month in the hospital had made her different-looking enough to slip by a nine-year-old. Besides, who thought of the powerful, intimidating hero Miruko and pictured her in a wheelchair?

Now, though, Rumi had a new dilemma. She didn't want to reveal who she was, only to watch the typical hero worship inevitably turn into disappointment; she couldn't take that right now. So instead, Rumi responded evasively, "Something like that. You've probably never heard me."

"That's okay," Hitomi said before adding, "I want to be a hero, too."

Rumi saw the opportunity to change the subject, and went for it immediately. "Really? What's your...why do you want to be a hero?" she asked, managing to summon up a tiny spark of genuine interest.

She had been about to ask what Hitomi's quirk was, until she remembered Izuku and his dreams and his stubbornness. Maybe Hitomi's quirk wasn't the most important factor in whether she could become a hero. Although...she had said she still wanted to be a hero, hadn't she?

Hitomi beamed, excited to talk about their dreams just like every child was. She explained, "I wanna be like my hero, Miruko!"

Oh.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Rumi had to suppress an involuntary flinch at Hitomi's words. Determined not to act weak in front of a kid, she managed to say, "Really? That's great!"

Hitomi must not have noticed the waver in Rumi's voice, because she beamed widely, her silver eyes shining brightly. "Yeah, Miruko's awesome!" Hitomi cheered, "she's always beating villains with her bare hands, and no matter how scary a fight gets, she never backs down, ever!"

"Oh?" Rumi choked out, fighting to control her shame as this young girl praised a hero she'd been, once.

Hitomi nodded vigorously as she confirmed, "Yeah, she's incredible!"

Then, her expression soured, and the exuberant girl drooped as though weighed down with worry. Leaning in close, Hitomi whispered to Rumi, "I'm kind of worried about Miruko, though. Nobody's seen her since that really bad fight a month ago. They're saying that she got hurt really bad...and I'm scared that she's not gonna come back."

Rumi blinked a few times, until she finally managed to agree in a weak voice, "I am too, kid."
"Really? Are you a big fan of her, too?" Hitomi asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

The question of if she was her own fan was so strange to Rumi's mind, she nearly laughed. Instead, though, she asked another question that was still burning at her.

"Hitomi, do you still want to be a hero, even though you…" Rumi asked, trailing off as she nodded at Hitomi's missing arm, which the girl waved around just as wildly as her good hand as she spoke about her favorite hero.

Hitomi came to a stop long enough to glance down at her missing limb, then looked right back up into Rumi's eyes.

"Yeah, I do," Hitomi told her, the light, airy exuberance gone from her face, replaced with a look of pure determination that Rumi couldn't help but recognize, the kind that would get this tiny slip of a girl past a thousand obstacles and a thousand people telling her "no," the kind that made her look like she was about to drive through a concrete wall with nothing but her body.

"Why? What makes you say that?" Rumi wondered, trying not to be swept up by this girl's faith and failing in the most hopeful way possible.

Hitomi rubbed her right hand over her stump as she explained, "Even though I got hurt by a villain, I tried to be like my hero and never give up. I was still really scared and hurt and afraid for a long time...I didn't think I could do it. But then I realized that if Miruko lost her arm, she still wouldn't give up, and I shouldn't, either. I...if she doesn't come back, then...then I want to be just like her anyway!"

Hitomi was speaking quickly and forcefully by the time she was done, her eyes shut tight as though she was expecting Rumi to challenge her, to tell her that she was wrong.

Instead, as she felt something inside her feeling softer than she could ever remember, Rumi asked quietly, "So that's why you want to do it? You...want to live up to who you think Miruko is?

"To who I know she is," Hitomi corrected, her voice still ringing out with strength mixed with nervousness, "and...because if I ever meet her, whether she's still a hero or not...I want her to be proud of me."

Rumi smiled then, somber and muted, but a real smile, one that pushed back the fear and the darkness in her chest and, for a second, made her feel like the hero this little girl thought she was again.

She brought up her remaining hand to ruffle Hitomi's hair affectionately, and told her, "If Miruko saw you right now...I think she would already be proud, kid."

Hitomi's smile was full of all the same feelings that Rumi could feel swirling through her, and it was as much of a promise as Rumi's was, too. She said, "Thanks, Rumi."

"Anytime, Hitomi," Rumi responded, grinning back and holding out a fist. Hitomi bumped it, and something inside Rumi that had been loose, had been missing, snapped back into place.

From the side of the room, Izuku watched with an unreadable expression, half wry grin and half grimace, as pride and memories warred inside him.

A while later, when Rumi had said her goodbyes and she had been assured that Hitomi's mother was sworn to secrecy, Izuku wheeled her out of the room with a knowing smirk on his face.

They hadn't made it twenty feet down the corridor before Izuku asked, "So, do you still think I'm making things up?"

Rumi huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she retorted, "You sly motherfucker, you had that all planned out, didn't you?"

"What, me? Of course not!" Izuku laughed, a twinkle in his eye, "Of course, if I just so happened to arrange a playdate with the biggest Miruko fan in the entire hospital, who happens to be an actual ray of sunshine, well...is that a crime?"

"I suppose it isn't...but I'm still feeling a tiny bit manipulated," Rumi grumbled.

Without a drop of sympathy, Izuku responded, "Good. You needed that, and don't try to lie about it."

Rumi rolled her eyes, but she took his advice. Eventually, as they made their way towards her room, she spoke up again to say, "Izuku...I've made my decision, but there's one condition."

Without stopping or missing a beat, Izuku replied, "I see. Do I get to hear it?"

Rumi nodded, drawing in her breath as a look of raw stubbornness formed on her face, a look borrowed from a little girl who had borrowed it from the woman Rumi would be again, someday.

"I'm going to come back," Rumi declared, "I'm going to work my ass off, fight tooth and nail, do whatever it takes to be a hero again...but there's something I need you to help me with."
Even though Rumi wasn't looking at him, Izuku nodded, his voice ringing with depth and force every bit as strong as Rumi's. "Anything," Izuku promised, meaning it as deeply as he could mean anything.

Rumi closed her eyes, imagining the scene; she had five days, five days until playtime was over. When she opened her eyes again, they burned as she growled, "I'm going to announce it myself, in person. But when I do... I will not show up in a goddamn wheelchair. I won't let the people who look up to me see me like that. I am going to walk onto that podium, no matter how short or hard that distance is. To do that...I need your help."

Izuku could have said a hundred things, given any number of reasons why what Rumi wanted was ludicrous at best, and borderline impossible at worst...but he knew it wouldn't matter. Rumi would do it anyway, and he would cheer her on every step of the way.

"Tomorrow, we're going to start," Izuku told her, "and it's going to be the hardest thing you've ever done. You're going to be begging me to let you stop, but I won't let you. If we're going to do this, we're going to fucking do it, you hear me?"

Rumi nodded once, knowing full well that she was going to be in agonizing pain this time tomorrow, and not giving a damn. Pain, she could take and then some; she wasn't afraid of it anymore.

"Tomorrow," she agreed, "we get to work."