I listen to the automatic doors close behind me, and I stare into the twilight. Of course it's late by the time I get out. Nothing against that poor girl, but of course I had to ask a worker on her first day for help. I look down the streets, which are clearing of the evening bustle. I fumble with the weight of my bags - can't carry them right - and begin my hobble home.

My first day at my new job starts tomorrow, and I don't want to even think of running the risk of getting home late. It would set a terrible first impression showing up disheveled and exhausted. The phrase often repeated throughout my childhood came to mind, "Early to bed, early to rise makes a person healthy, wealthy, and wise."

Every other step sends a burning sensation through my calf. I know I may too eager for results, but the examiners did say, if luck was still on my side, that the pain should subside as scar tissue continues to form. Bumpkus, I can't help but think. The metallic sound of my crutch is still something I'm adjusting to. The bandage is itchy. I had gotten slow since the accident. As a result, it seemed like life itself was taking its time getting places. While watching my feet and the tip of my crutch, I see the smiley-face pin on my chest grin back up at me. I sigh. I need to work on tricking myself that everything will go back to the way it was before, even if it takes a while. A long while.

Clack, step, clack, step, clack. Being upset at how this cookie crumbled isn't going to help anybody. What's done is done. I compose myself quickly and continue my stoic march home.

March home, indeed. What should be an average trip taken by bike has now become an arduous trek on mostly one foot. With each step as slow and painful as it is, I am more than eager to get it over with quickly.

That's when I read the street sign and looked over my shoulder. I look down the adjacent road. This would spit me out close to my building, but this back road was relatively infamous for more than its fair share of generic hoodlum activity. The flickering street lamps and dumped trash only helped create the mood.

At this point, I want nothing more than some painkillers and to call it a day. The referral headache starting to pound at my head seconds that notion. It's not like I can't handle myself.

As the sun dips farther below the city's skyscrapers, the atmosphere shifts with the sky. My thoughts are drowned out by the sounds of silence. The past decade hasn't treated this side of Musutafu well; the night is when these streets come to life. My head feels foggier than I expected. I don't like thinking it, but for once in my life I feel vulnerable. I keep a wary watch as I pass each alleyway and each person on the street. There weren't many, but most pairs of eyes I meet only look away. The knack to look intimidating without trying much has come in handy over the years.

One set of eyes doesn't look away, though. This gangly man's aura changes in the instant he notices me. It doesn't take him long to size me up: a small, weak, and - frankly - nicely-dressed woman. Honestly, I can't blame him for seeing me as the easy and valuable target I look like.

His fingernails grow and sharpen into blades. "Your bag, now. I ain't gonna hurt you, I swear. I just need the cash."

His voice was unsteady, and he keeps repositioning his hand as if he doesn't know where to point it. His shirt is tucked over his nose so only his eyes (and navel) show. He seems inexperienced, but I can't trust him when he says things won't get violent. The look in his eye gives him away: he's scared but volatile. This situation can go one of two ways. I know which way this is shaping up to be. Even so, he lacks conviction.

"You don't want to do this," I tell him. "Turn around and go home."

His wide eyes dart between me and my purse before he lunges for it, spinning up both on our heels. With a death grip on my purse, I kept my eyes locked on my attacker. He's panicking, but he's getting frustrated the longer I hold on. He's weak but determined. We struggle in a back and forth dance of sorts. I lean to the side when my leg starts to give.

I suck in a harsh breath. I can't wrest my bag from him. Gosh, he shouldn't be this hard to ward off. He isn't even doing that much. Running out of options, I whack his knee with the crutch. If I can throw him off his balance, just enough to take him by surprise, I -

The man is suddenly yanked off me by what appears to be sentient strips of cloth. He thrashes as his knife-like fingernails shrink. "My Quirk!" he whimpered. "What happened to it?!"

I follow the cloths back to it's source to find a man. Presumably one of the many Pro Heros in the area, though this shadowy figure doesn't ring a bell. He blends so well into the scenery with his black jumpsuit and gravity-defying mane I was almost more surprised by him than the attack. He reins the mugger in with ease. The lanky man throws a fist, but the Hero quickly counters and lands one of his own. Sprawling onto the sidewalk, the wide-eyed man doesn't take long to realize he's outmatched. He gives up without much more of a fight.

As the Hero ties him to a nearby signpost, his hair falls into place, framing his yellow goggles. "Call the police; tell them there's another one."

He stands and he faces me. I can't see his eyes, but I can feel his gaze on my leg. I am suddenly hyper aware of my being and I can't decide whether to straighten my posture or to crumple inwards. "Miss, stay out of this area in the future. Wait for a police escort home for now."

I clench my jaw, but don't say a word. I feel small in my place as I'm stared down. Now would be a good time for some sort of retort, along the lines of a snappy "I had things handled", but it would be wasted at this point. With one last look, he seems to disappear as soon as he showed up. He leaves me alone to deal with the police.

Waiting on the officials takes longer than taking the scenic route home would have. Sorting out the issues with the villain and disappearing Hero takes even more time. By the time I'm allowed to leave, my head and leg can hardly take any more. As the officer lets me awkwardly clamor into his backseat for the short ride home, a terrible realization hits me:

If I need rescuing like some sort of damsel from that low stakes of a villain, then my career as a Pro Hero is on the brink of being over for good. I hope that doesn't interfere with my new job. But there are good chances this incident will stay outside of that circle.

The only sounds that reverberate from the pristine walls are my rhythmic, clanky steps. I curse myself; I'm late, I'm late, I'm late. I haven't had the opportunity to walk these halls since my… mishap, and I now have to consider the added time I need just for walking. I should consider myself lucky for getting a job like this - being able to help and train the best of the best. But something nags at me that opinions might have changed on account of my prognosis. I don't need to be an active Pro Hero to be a teacher, do I? No, they'll understand. Accidents happen in the line of duty all the time. I huff. I'm overthinking things, I'm sure.

I stop just shy of the meeting room's closed door. I grip the handles on both my brace and the door as I give the knob a twist.

"Hello, newcomer!" A cheery voice greets me. U.A.'s very own Principal Nezu, my new boss, waves at me with a fluffy paw. "Come, sit. We are about to get started." He gestures to a cup near the last empty chair. "Help yourself to some tea."

I skim the faces of over ten people in the room. Other than the principal, I recognize about half of the Heros I see. Some I even recall working with in past attacks and catastrophes. As I maneuver myself into place next to a blond, skeletal-looking man, a deep stream of air exits my nostrils. Putting my unsightly support behind my chair, I look back at Nezu.

He stands in his chair, and with a smile he begins our first meeting. "Another break has come and gone, and the new school year is right around the corner. I am pleased to announce that we are bringing two new teachers on board this year." He gestures at me and the man next to me. We stand. Well, I mostly lean on the table. "Please welcome Mikami Kokoro and Toshinori Yagi. The Hero Dissonance and the number one Hero himself, All Might." He winks and holds a paw pad to his lips. "But that last part needs to stay quiet."

We bow our heads and seat ourselves once more. I steal a glance at the man next to me once more. He looks like he's on Death's doorstep, yet there is a glimmer in his sunken eyes that shows, just maybe, he is the Hero All Might. Chances are this is only news to me. I remember my contract had said something weird: if a Hero's identity were to be a secret to the public, that we must not share that information with anyone outside of staff. This is the only situation that could be referring to. Most Pro Heros today draw no separation between public and private life, myself included, but I can see that there would be an exception for someone like the number one Hero.

This school really is the best of the best.

Principal Nezu drones on about the school year ahead, and for the most part I'm attentive. I must look as deadpan as always, but I ensure that my eyes follow the mouse-like creature's every move, even after he crawls onto the table for a better view. Over time I begin to feel uncomfortable and I shift in my seat. Someone is not looking towards the front of the room. In between Nezu's points, my vision darts across the table on the hunt for any pair of wandering eyes.

My blue orbs lock with his gray ones. He peeks out between a thick gray scarf and shaggy, ebony locks. He stares me down, slumped in his seat, brow turned down. He does not look pleased. A pit forms in my stomach. I recognize him now.

He's the Hero from last night.

My expression doesn't falter. His doesn't, either, but he eventually turns his gaze back to Nezu. The most positive thought I can conjure is to wonder how such a sulky man got to such a position as this.

The rest of the briefing was uneventful. It doesn't take long after the meeting is adjourned for most of the room to clear. I gather the files I was handed towards the end and flip through them. They contain brief profiles on the other teachers and students, along with an approval form for the curriculum I submitted. I clip the top of my crutch to my upper arm and push myself to a stand.

"What kind of Hero…," a voice started. I moved my head in the direction of the sound. It was him. "What class do you teach?"

"General Studies. Ethics and Philosophy." I smile, trying to be amicable. "What about you?"

"What kind of Pro Hero makes such amateur decisions and can't resolve a minor altercation like last night?" His expression was the same grimace from before.

I am quiet as I process his question. My strict face falls back into place. Against better judgement, I speak up. "It was in the process of being resolved."

"That didn't look very resolved to me. The fact that you even got into a situation like that shows your poor judgement, to put it nicely."

I resent that. I don't say anything. He looks at me between hair strands.

"U. A. standards have lowered, it seems. The rationale behind hiring All Might I can understand, even if we have our differences, but you are beyond logic."

I don't have time for this. I turn to leave. He stops me one more time.

"What would you say the ethics are of a Pro Hero who can't even save herself?"

Take a deep breath. I might as well indulge him. "I want to thank you for interfering regardless." I walk through the door.

"It won't happen again, Mikami," he commands. He seems to say most things in an unamused mutter, but this sentence had an underlying edge to it. And it stings.

I clench my jaw. You don't have to tell me. I won't let it happen.