EPISODE 8.0: Generation

I'm sick of all this waiting and people telling me what I should be.
What if I'm not so crazy, maybe you're the one who's wrong not me.

Toshinori Yagi was no stranger to death. Try as he might to prevent it whenever he could, the blond man had become well acquainted with it. Death was not a stranger though it was certainly no friend of his no matter how much closer it drew to him with every passing day. It shaped him then as it continued to shape him now, an ever-present reminder of his failings and his virtues. Standing at the precipice of the massive stairwell of the USJ, All Might wondered how these deaths would affect his students.

"This was done by their leader?" he asked the detective standing at his side. Tsukauchi sighed and nodded, scratching his short black hair beneath the brim of his hat.

"Most of them…."

All Might nodded and politely ignored the sound of retching from one of the greener officers behind him and his old friend. It was a ghastly sight really. The callous ways the woman, an Akane Shigaraki, had cut limbs and bisected bodies simply for the fact that they stood within her reach. How the effects of her Quirk were less kind as they ate flesh from bone to such a degree the only indication that there had even been any meat on those bodies to begin with was the pools of blood beneath the skeletal remains.

Aizawa was lucky that Young Midoriya had intervened when he did. Any longer within the mist of Shigaraki's gas and he'd have suffered a similar fate. As it was, the man would undoubtedly be spending weeks under Recovery Girl's not-so-tender mercies. He had, after all, lost nearly eighty percent of his skin…

"Apparently the Nomu, or Hedorah depending on which of your students you ask, was responsible for the rest of that… mess."

Mess.

An adequate word as any really. Flesh and muscle melted into a pool of meaty fluids wherein bits of bone floated in scattered pieces amidst the puddles of those that fell victim to the Nomu's tread. Such a thing… could it really have been—

"It was a Keter," affirmed No. 13, hands still trembling within their gloves. "Marumaru-kun identified it as such."

"And you took him at his word?" questioned Tsukauchi, "A student who isn't even a licensed Pro-Hero never mind a licensed—"

"I believe that Thirteen took Marumaru-kun at his word because if the boy truly understands what a Keter-Type Quirk is," interrupted Nezu coldly as he walked onto the scene, "then he undoubtedly knows the punishment for those who "cry wolf" as the Westerners say."

Toshinori repressed a grimace and looked away. That… was putting it mildly. Some of the worst examples of scum and villainy were fortunate to end up in places like Tartarus or Helheim. Those who fell under the standards of a Keter-Type Quirk?

There is a far worse place than any Hell on this Earth.

"However, if you wish to know if this Nomu met each of the Tanaka Standards, let's look at the facts, shall we?" Nezu spoke up as he a raised a claw. "Control. The Nomu was quite obviously under the sway of this Akane Shigaraki who in turn allowed it to run rampant enough that when a student stood between it and its prey, it chose to still go after its intended target. In point of fact, the only reason it apparently deviated at all was because Marumaru-kun was capable of actually injuring it."

Another claw was raised.

"Devastation. The Nomu's every exhalation resulted in the release of enough poisonous vapors into the air that even now, the systems installed in the USJ, which are among the most advanced pieces of technology on this hemisphere, are still having difficulties identifying. Of course, that's just from it merely breathing. As evident by the remains, its body possessed a level of acidity that is as astounding as it is horrifying given that it could, in essence, consume and digest any raw material it came in contact with. Organic or otherwise."

Another.

"Impact. From testimonies gathered from the students and evidence plain as the noses on our faces, we can surmise that the Nomu was, quite literally, composed entirely of pollutants of varying degrees of toxicity and, once more I must emphasize, highly acidic. The fact that we can even breathe the air in here at all is due entirely to the various air filters and other equipment and technologies installed, most of which are now in dire need of repair or replacement as those that were in closer proximity to the Nomu appear to have melted."

Finally, all four claws were raised.

"Morality." Nezu merely gestured below to the remains being gathered far below. "Need I actually say anything further?"

Tsukauchi winced and pulled the flap of his hat down to shadow his eyes. "You know that I have to ask these kind of questions, Principal Nezu because if not me then one of—"

"A Suit was already here and gone before you started in on one of my teachers, Detective." Nezu interrupted with a sniff of his snout. "They were… satisfied with the results of Marumaru's actions though I am afraid they may have some words to say in your hesitating, Thirteen. At the very least, your license for such matters may be up for review."

No. 13's hands clenched tightly but did not respond beyond a tightly controlled nod.

Toshinori however, tried and failed to swallow back the lungful of blood that nearly erupted out of his mouth. "Wh-Which Suit was it?"

"Diamond, thank heavens. That one at least has some proper appreciation for a good cup of tea." Nezu nodded. "Though that does remind me, how did your luncheon with Mrs. Midoriya go, Toshinori-kun?"

Somehow, even with the loss of it, Toshinori felt his stomach drop at that.

"The fodder wasted…!"

CRASH!

"The Nomu gone…!"

SMASH!

"Kurogiri, broken…!"

BAM!

"The intel was wrong! You were wrong! SENSEI!"

"I was not. You were simply not prepared enough, my dear. You underestimated them and their tenacity."

"Them? THEM?! I don't care about them!" SMASH! "A bunch of heroic little, delusional bastards and bitches, the whole lot of them! Claiming themselves as heroes!" CRASH! "Liars! Like all of the rest of them!"

"And what's this I hear of the Nomu? You did not actually leave it behind, did you?"

"No! It—! It was destroyed. By that golden-scaled bastard! How was that miserable thing supposed to kill him if it couldn't even kill a mere brat?!"

"Oh, my dear… There is nothing "mere" about HIM. Think of this as another lesson. Monsters, true monsters, come in all shapes and sizes but always and forever from where you least expect them."

"That brat… both of those BRATS…!"

"Naturally, you should be upset over this loss but take heart, my dear. This was not a futile exercise. The elite are aware of you now. Take your time, my dear. Take as much of it as you need. As the world is now, people like us… we cannot move beyond the stretching darkness of the shadows. This is why they —why we— need a symbol. A symbol, like you."

"Sensei… I…"

"Akane Shigaraki. When next you step out into the light, show the world why you should be feared. Become the Destroyer you were always meant to be."

How could this have happened…?

Itsuki sat in his desk with his eyes closed, feigning rest once more as his classmates talked around him. He had spent the better part of yesterday trying and failing to come to some sort of understanding within himself. Itsuki tried to follow the string through the labyrinth of his life and find which corner it was that he had turned, what path he might have taken, that had resulted in such drastic changes to the timeline That One had witnessed.

A different Class 1-A, he could accept. His mere existence alone was proof of concept that the river of history, no matter how set into the course it may be, could still be diverted. An entirely different Shigaraki? One whose Quirk was no less devastating in design and scope? A Nomu that had the potential to not only kill All Might back in his prime but to have in its possession a Quirk that belonged to one of the rightful students of Class 1-A?

That was too many changes, all of them too diverse in scope to ignore and simply write off as a ripple effect. He had done everything short of finding a cave to dwell in for the last several years since he woke up in that hospital bed so once again…

How could this have happened?

The Nomu… It was far too different from what That One had seen. It was far deadlier for one… in point of fact, it was better to say that it was far more efficient in what it was designed for. For all intents and purposes, this one could have killed All Might, or at the least had an easier time of it than it could have with the Quirks it should have possessed. Enhanced strength, high-speed regeneration, and shock absorption. True, such a thing could—and had—stood well against All Might but it was… wrong. No. It was foolish.

No… Itsuki frowned, clawed finger tapping gently upon his desk. It was foolish.

Why create something to kill the Symbol of Peace and make it be capable of matching him blow-for-blow? Why go through all that effort, all that trouble, to craft something that was, in essence, a distorted reflection of the man himself? That one had been… a joke… in the long run of horrors that would follow in its wake.

Hedorah's body was both incredibly toxic and highly acidic. Direct physical contact would put All Might at risk of serious injury if not outright death. Distance attacks would be no better for they ran the risk of spreading the acid and Hedorah's poisons. It was also quite evident that Hedorah could control its separated parts and it was highly likely the damned thing could even self-duplicate if given enough time and resources.

That it had Aoyama's Quirk Navel Laser… Sure, the blast had come from a tear duct in one of its eyes but the light, the sheer splendor of the beam… Why that? Out of all the Quirks that Hedorah possessed, that one made the least amount of sense for it to have. Was it some sort of long-range attack?

Á̶̢̲͌̐ ̴͇͈̈́͜͝r̵̡͖̥̔e̴̘̣̝̓̓̇m̴͓͂i̷͍͆͆n̵̼̚d̶͚̀̋ȇ̶̜̗͂r̵̘̼̎.̷̨͂̑

Itsuki shook his head, scowling as his now clawed fingertips rubbed at his scalp.

Then there was the leader of the attack. Itsuki hadn't heard her name outright himself, but in the aftermath… He had heard it clear as day and nearly lost what little hold of himself that he managed to regain in the aftermath of the attack.

Akane Shigaraki… The same last name but clearly a different person entirely… Not unreasonable given that Tomura Shigaraki had been an alias from the start but… Why that same name? She clearly doesn't have the same Quirk as Tomura does-did-whatever! I mean, there are some similarities but—

Any further thought Itsuki had to the matter was interrupted by the sound of the door opening and many a student exclaiming in shock, surprise, and even horror. Itsuki turned to look and grimaced at the sight. The man was not only wrapped from head to toe in bandages, he was begrudgingly dragging an oxygen tank behind him with the connected mask all but stapled to his face. As it was, more than a few, arguably necessary, bandages held it in place over the man's face.

"Morning -hic-whirr- class." Aizawa's gruff voice had a faint, synthetic undertone to it as his respirator let out a faint and far-too-familiar sound to Itsuki's ears. His tails twitched beneath his seat and twitched again when Tiffany turned slightly in her seat to look back towards him and offer a familiar hand sign.

That doesn't even fit into the context of this situation damn it!

Tenya's hand shot up like a piston, "Aizawa-sensei, are you sure you are alright?"

"I find -hic-whirr- your lack of faith -hic-whirr- disturbing."

Itsuki did not slam his head into his desk nor did he give Tiffany the satisfaction of looking at her as she gave him a grin that had even Bakugo of all people edging his chair further away from her.

"Besides, there's little time -hic-whirr- for you kids to waste before you face -hic-whirr- your greatest ordeal yet."

The students looked to each other, nervous and justifiably afraid.

Aizawa's head bowed low, allowing his eyes to be seen through the wrappings about his head. "The U.A. -hic-whirr- Sports Festival is starting -hic-whirr- soon."

"THAT'S SO NORMAL THOUGH?!"

The lunch bell rang gently as Cementoss exited the classroom, literary book in his massive hands, leaving the students to their own devices. In simpler terms, he got the heck out of dodge before the students' excitement got the better of them and just in time too as quite a few students all but exploded out of their seats with glee.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Itsuki swiftly vacated the room and was surprised to find himself with company all but walking in his shadow.

Fumiko glanced upwards at Itsuki, a mask of indifference upon her face that didn't quite match the faint flush on her cheeks. A coloration that only deepened upon sighting the clear bemusement on Itsuki's face. Not saying a word, Itsuki turned and started towards the cafeteria and, after a moment's pause, the redhaired girl followed after him.

As she trailed along behind him, Fumiko found her eyes once more drawn to Itsuki's form, a thoughtful frown on her face as she trailed the generous length of his twin tails behind him. She watched as their bladed tips trailed to and fro in the air. Her eyes trailed down to his legs, digitigrade with saurian feet hidden beneath customized shoes, and then up towards his upper body and face, which she only now noticed was turned and looking at her, more amused than before.

He tilted his head with a twitch tugging at the edge of his lips. "See something you like?"

She blushed but didn't rise to his bait. "More of a concern actually."

"Oh? What would that be?"

"You're not in your natural form, are you?"

He stopped. Kill her. Kill her now.

Itsuki turned fully around to face her, left hand clenching tightly and unseen by either of them. "What do you mean by that?" What are you doing? Kill. Her. NOW.

"The way that you move… You walk with your upper body tilted slightly forward and more sway to your arms than the average person. It wasn't until I saw you at the USJ that I finally put the pieces together. When you're wearing your hero costume, your arms are far longer, and you walk with a quadruped's gait. Your arms are supposed to be longer than they are now, but you've shrunk them down to more humanlike proportions."

"Huh." Itsuki blinked. Observant. Too observant.

Fumiko tilted her head. "Why would you do that? Limit yourself in such a way?"

Itsuki didn't even have to stop and think. "A lot of different reasons. The most prevalent would have to be the simplest of them. Training."

She blinked at that. "Training?"

He nodded. "Make everything you do be some form of training. Got to go up a few floors, take the stairs. Walking towards school, walk atop the neighborhood fences and walls. You have a Quirk like mine, well, you should be exercising it at every available opportunity."

"I see…" Fumiko murmured, thoughts drifting to the tales of her and Rikido's many-times great grandfather, a man whose legends permeated the Nerima Ward even to this day.

"Speaking of training, you never did follow me up on that offer of yours," said Itsuki, resuming the trek towards the cafeteria.

"Offer?" Fumiko blinked. "Wait, you mean, a spar?"

"Of course. From what I hear, I'm likely to be the only one in our class who'd be a willing partner for you."

She knew he meant sparring partner, she knew it, but that didn't stop the spark of anger that glimmered beneath her glasses. "What do you mean by that?"

He looked over his shoulder at her. "Chunky salsa?"

She stumbled, thankfully not falling onto her face though she'd rather have the earth open up beneath her and swallow her whole. "I'm going to strangle Mina…"

Itsuki chuckled. "Ah, you can't blame her for bragging about it. From what I heard, you got some serious airtime with your hits and all without your Quirk too. Most impressive."

Fumiko looked up through her locks of auburn hair at him. "You are kind of weird, aren't you?"

"You have no idea."

Toshinori Yagi was not, at his core, a liar. Oh certainly he omitted facts, kept his and others' secrets tighter than a vault, but never, ever, would he lie outright. At least, that's what he always told himself as the days became months and turned into years. As the emptiness in his torso was matched by the dwindling of his body's health, where his "natural" form became a thing of horror, so too did his capacity to lie begin to develop and grow into a work of art.

To himself and to his successor.

Standing in his of the school's many, many lounge offices, Toshinori eyed Midoriya with a small bead of sweat travelling down the back of his head. He had invited the boy to a private luncheon so that he could talk with him about the upcoming Sports Festival and Midoriya's lack of control over his inherited Quirk.

That had been the plan.

That was the plan.

It had been executed beautifully, if Toshinori could say so himself. Why, he even thought he could see the rainbows of light shining down upon young Midoriya as he urged the boy to step forward, to do his absolute best to declare to the world that "I am here!" just as he had done.

Yet…

"Is there something on your mind, Young Midoriya? There's still a bit of time left before you have to hurry back to class, so if you have any questions for me…?" Perhaps the lad wanted some tips of how to succeed? Toshinori did not intend to divulge any "spoilers" to give his protégé an edge but—

"You're not secretly related to royalty are you All Might?"

In all of his years as a Pro Hero, Toshinori could count on one hand the number of questions that had come at him from out of left field. Young Midoriya's had come so far out from left field that Toshinori was fairly certain he had been struck by a football in place of a baseball. He swallowed back a gout of blood as he coughed and cleared his throat.

"Wh-Where on Earth did you get an idea like that, Young Midoriya?"

"I'm sorry! I—I just… back at the USJ… the leader… She… She said something to me before she left…"

Toshinori nodded, his shoulders stiffening beneath his currently oversized clothes. Young Midoriya's testimony, along with the rest of Class 1-A, had been in Tsukauchi-kun's report to the staff that morning.

"She called me… Heir to the King and—" Midoriya's eyes bugged out as Toshinori loosed a positively massive amount of blood out of his mouth. "ALL MIGHT?!"

Following a rather hectic clean-up, with far too many apologies than necessary, Toshinori counted each and every one of his lucky stars that the lunch bell had rung before he could have a chance to try and explain his… Reaction…

Toshinori sunk deep into the couch, bony fingers rubbing at his brow. No one warned me that being a teacher could be so stressful…

In his own private corner of the schoolgrounds, or rather that of Recovery Girl's office and strapped tightly in place as he was forcibly fed a full meal rather than his atypical luncheon of a ration bar and juice pack, Aizawa suddenly felt the urge to laugh.

Thirteen sat in the teacher's office alone, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee within their gloved grasp.

The clock on the wall continued ticking onwards, the seconds hand twitching its way forward towards its peak. Between one second and the next, the chair across from Thirteen became occupied. Thirteen didn't so much as twitch at the sudden appearance of the person now sitting across from them, one leg crossed over the other as gloved hands nursed a steaming cup of tea.

After all, Thirteen was sitting alone in the teacher's office.

The individual across from them wore a suit. At a glance, it would not be indistinct from any other suit worn by a member of the government. Finely pressed, expertly tailored, and little to no other distinction save for one. Upon their chest, located directly over where their heart may lay, if they were in fact as human on the inside as they might be on the outside, was a single golden pin.

A diamond.

The one who occupied the chair opposite to Thirteen was a simple person.

That was all.

There could be some words used to describe them, Thirteen supposed, but they would have to be simple words. Tall. A bit on the slim side perhaps. Human? Possibly, it was always something fiercely debated in quiet whispers in hidden corners where regular people thought they were safe from prying eyes or listening.

Such ridiculousness.

No one escapes the notice of the Suits, especially not those whom bore the license, and thus the title of—

"Jäger."

This time Thirteen twitched. Their eyes tracked over the empty room, spared a glance to the Suit across from them before resuming their listless stare down to the cup in their grasp.

"Diamond." Thirteen murmured. "Such an honor…"

"Hm. I'm sure."

Indeed it was, if it was anything so simple as that. Few knew of them, fewer still had actually met with one, but not a one who had even the tiniest inkling of thought towards them could deny one solitary truth.

The Suits are dangerous. Were dangerous. Could have been. Might be.

Thirteen shook their head, hand pressing against their helm to stave off a headache. A chuckle startled them. They scanned the room again, more fervently than before, gave a nod of indication towards Diamond, and relaxed again at the reassurance that they were alone in the office space.

The Suit, Diamond, yes, that was the name attributed. Because of the pin upon the chest. Above where a heart would lay. At least where a human heart might be in a human torso. Diamond brought a hand to hide a smile, not that they had need to do so.

The Suits, in present tense, did not exist. Only in the past could they be recollected and even such fragmentary thoughts were comprised of the most important of matters. Matters such as—

"You hesitated Jäger. There was a Keter within your sight and within grasp of your Quirk and you hesitated. I would hear why you did so."

Thirteen's grip on their mug tightened, the porcelain creaking in their grasp as the Black Hole that was both their Body and their Quirk, strained against the confines of their containment. "There were too many civilians within the area. The cost of neutralizing the Keter was too great."

A clack of a cup against the table. Hands pressed against table, fingers shaped like claws, or perhaps claws shaped like fingers, scratch themselves against the glass. A tall and slim form leaned close, far too close from such a distance, as a breath cold as the grave flowed over Thirteen's helmeted face. The pro-hero didn't react to the sudden proximity of Diamond within their personal space.

After all, they were the only one in the room.

"Such a decision is not yours to be made prior to its commitment Jäger. Not when you readily took the lives of criminals tried and untried in the courts. Do not also try and sugarcoat the facts. Those civilians are all in training to become pro-heroes. Some of them may even be sitting where you are now, should they also emulate this unfortunate relapse of yours. Hypocrisy is not tolerated ailment in a Jäger."

"That was different." Thirteen murmured. "The villains—they were…"

"They were what? Trying to kill you? The students? If they hadn't been, if they too were aware of the walking genocide that they had invited along to join them in their murderous foray, you would have laid them low just the same. Lie all you want to yourself but do not waste my time by trying to do the same to me. It never works out well for those involved."

A hand so very human and yet far too entirely inhuman, gently pressed claws like fingers upon Thirteen's chest.

"Not when your heart speaks so much more openly to me than your own conscience does to you."

A clicking of a cup, warm tea freshly filled to the brim and taken in a generous sip. The cold breath gone from Thirteen's face, the malicious grasp over their heart gone like a bad dream, and Diamond sitting back in the chair with papers grasped lightly by fingers like claws. Papers rustled, pointed appendages idly flipping through them as indescribable eyes scanned the numerous images and names, each and every one different but united in sharing a few simple words amongst them.

Status: Inactive.

Responding Jäger: No. 13.

"Your record defends you this time, Jäger. This one and only time. Should something like this happen again, the revoking of your license will be the least of your concerns."

A click of a pen, inked tip scratching lightly in cursive script. The written paper placed gently upon the table, a solid thump of a stamp across the picture printed in the top right corner.

"Don't forget. It is only because you hold that license that you are sitting here with me rather than being just another name on a sheet of paper. Would you kindly read and dispose of this please?"

Thirteen nodded and startled to their feet as the bell rang throughout the halls of U.A., signaling the end of the luncheon hour. They shuddered where they stood, taking great heaving breathes of air as they slowly looked first to the empty chair across from them before turning their gaze down to the solitary piece of paper sitting beside a series of scratch marks decorating an otherwise pristine glass table.

The pro-hero reached down with trembling fingers to grasp the paper and read its contents swiftly before swallowing it away with a quick burst of their Quirk. They looked about the room once more and visibly sagged with relief as the door opened and a few of their fellow teachers stepped inside.

They were no longer alone in the room.

The clock ticked forward towards twenty-one past three. Class 1-A's doors were opened wide as they could and a veritable sea of people flooded the hallway outside their classroom, much to the surprise of many.

"Wh-Wha-What's going on?!" exclaimed Ochaco with wide, disbelieving eyes. She hadn't seen so many students crammed into the hallways since the day the reporters had tripped the alarm, which, in hindsight, wasn't really that long ago but really this was rather excessive! She swore she could see a few second and third-year students intermingled in the crowd!

"What business do you have with Class 1-A?" asked Tenya, prim and proper and still riding the waves of his sergeant duties of ensuring the class had finished their afternoon chores both swiftly and without any dillydally.

"Scouting out the competition, what else Mustang?" asked Bakugo as he calmly walked towards the open door, backpack carried over one shoulder without a care in the world.

"M-Mustang?!" choked Iida, arms flailing in distinctive machine fashion and the engines in his legs revving loudly with his agitation.

"We're the class who had to deal with actual villains. They probably want to see us with their own eyes." Bakugo walked forward, sparing a halfhearted glare to the crowd before him. "At least now they get to see what a future pro looks like. Now move it extras!

"Stop calling people "extras" just because you can't be bothered to learn their names, Katsu-shit!" exclaimed Tiffany, karate-chopping the back of the volatile blond's head to further her point.

"So, this is Class 1-A…?" A boy with unruly violet locks of hair and eyes that were heavily weighed down with tired bags moved to the forefront of the crowd.

Still sitting at his desk, Itsuki's eyes narrowed as a name came to the forefront of his mind. Shinso…

"I heard you guys were impressive, but you sound just like an ass. Are all the students in the hero course this delusional or are you a special case?"

Bakugo's eye twitched, the other joining it at the hardly suppressed snickering from Tiffany right behind him. "Oh, he's got you made, doesn't he?"

"Seeing something like this makes me disillusioned. There are quite a few people who enrolled in general studies or other courses because they didn't make it into the hero course. Such is life I suppose." Shinso sighed before looking up and meeting Bakugo's eyes. "However, just because we didn't cut it the first time doesn't mean we won't get our own second chance. If we do well enough in the sports festival, they'll consider our transfer into the hero course and they may also transfer people out of it too."

More than a few students in Class 1-A flinched at that.

Shinso still kept staring into Bakugo's sneering face. "Scouting the competition? I came here to say that even if you're in the hero course, if you don't bring out everything you've got, I'll sweep your feet out from under you. Consider this a declaration of war."

There was a moment of stunned silence from those present, both from within and without Class 1-A unknowingly sharing the same thought. This guy is bold!

Save for one.

"War?"

Eyes turned to the one student still sitting at his desk. Itsuki faced the crowd of students at his classroom's door, reptilian eyes narrowed dangerously, gleaming brightly in their golden hues. Twin tails shook and rattled dangerously behind him as he slowly rose to his feet.

"You speak to us of arrogance… and yet here you are… You who dared to come here, to the heart of our territory and declare war upon us…?"

Itsuki didn't smile. He simply revealed a gleaming mouth filled to the brim with draconic teeth.

"Nemo me impune lacessit." Itsuki uttered lowly. "You threw down the gauntlet so if you expect to survive… The next time I see you, it best be with a sword held tightly in that naked hand of yours."

"HEY YOU!" roared a boy who stood at the back of the crowd. He raised a clenched fist upwards; fanged teeth glinting only half as brightly as the metallic ridges that surrounded his eye sockets. "I'M FROM CLASS 1-B, TETSUTETSU TETSUTESU! WE HEARD YOU FOUGHT SOME VILLAINS SO I'M HERE TO SEE WHAT ALL THE HYPE IS ABOUT AND ALL I SEE IS SOME SERIOUS BULL! IF YOU'RE GONNA BE LAYING DOWN THE GAUNTLET TO ANYONE IT OUGHT TO BE US!"

Oh jeez there's more?! Izuku and Ochaco unknowingly shared the same thought and, strangely enough, the same weirded out expression. Out the corner of her eye, Tiffany saw the opportunity and discretely took a photo of the two for posterities sake. Wouldn't do for either of them to be without any pictures of their pre-dating days. Well, that and it made for some excellent blackmail material for Izuku. The boy would pay his weight in school notes if it meant keeping any picture featuring him and any girl other than Tiffany herself away from his mother.

Ignorant of the byplay occurring just a few feet to his left, Itsuki slowly turned his gaze towards Tetsutetsu who, to his immense credit, didn't even so much as flinch from the intense scrutiny.

Especially when Itsuki's fang-filled jaw grew even wider, revealing far, far too many teeth for any human mouth to contain while golden-tinted scales erupted in a wave of reptilian hide over his human flesh. Without another word, he made his way forward and the crowd parted before him in haste until he stood towering over Tetsutetsu in his heroic guise minus of course his actual uniform.

Lightning sparked between Itsuki's fangs for a brief instant.

Tetsutetsu flinched and between one blink and the next, gone was the demon and back was the human Itsuki, shaking his head as he walked away towards home. "HEY WHAT THE—GET BACK HERE AND LAY DOWN THE GAUNTLET YOU JERK!"

Itsuki didn't pause or look back. Far as he was concerned, he had bigger concerns on his mind.

The more that things are changed, the more they stay the same… But is this for good or for ill?

That One saw this. I am sure of it. Where are these changes coming from? What is keeping some things the same? A ripple in a pond doesn't change the fact that it is still a pond.

Perhaps this is a sign… that things, no matter how bleak they may appear, could always be worse…

Kurogiri found himself starring upwards at a far too familiar tiled ceiling. He saw once more the same water spot in the furthest corner, a smidgeon bigger than last time he was here, and heard more than saw the tiny droplet of water impact the puddle below in the shadowed corner of the dark and dismal room.

More out of habit than any actual desire of his own to escape, Kurogiri lightly flexed his arms and legs, pulling tightly upon the thick, leathered straps that bound his limbs and head to the top of the operating bed.

He did not bother to try his Quirk not because he was privy to some deep, dark, and frankly impossible secrets that this room possessed. The thought never occurred to the child he had been before and thus never once entertained itself in the mind of the man he had since become.

A familiar voice rasped from just beyond Kurogiri's line of sight. "How many times must I do this to you, my dear pet project?"

A faint flip of a switch and the darkened spotlight above Kurogiri's head illuminated with an intensity to rival that of the sun. He winced, eyes closing tight both against the familiar burning of the light shining down into his retinas and the far-too-intimate touch of a gloved hand running lightly over his bare and wound-ridden chest.

"There are only so many times I can take you apart and put you back together before you become disposable in my eyes, pet… I am growing tired of having my grand work interrupted because the Master's bitch cannot act her age and insists on trying my patience." Another hand joined the other, reaching in and peeling back a layer of skin without care to better see the burnt and scarred muscles beneath the sundered flesh. "Still… I confess I am intrigued. A mere student did this to you?"

Kurogiri did not scream. For all that the boy he had been had screamed and begged and pleaded, the man he had become had since lost the will to do so some time ago. "Yes."

"Such a thing… is the sickness mutating even further?" A jab of a iron cast needle upon muscle, a faint errant spark ignited and died. "No… this is something… familiar." Another jab, more forceful than the last but no more energy ignited within Kurogiri's flesh. "Hmph."

For all that he did not voice his pain, Kurogiri certainly felt it still, his head woozy and spinning as a boy screamed somewhere in the back. Not that the doctor heard it.

No one ever did.

"Very well. I'll have to further your augmentation but no more after this. Should you break again, my dear pet… I'm afraid there won't be any need to put the pieces back together. The scraps can, after all, be put to so much better use."

"Very well… Doctor…"

"Hmph. If the Master insists on humoring his disobedient bitch with delusions of grandeur, then it seems only fair that you do the same for me, pet." A shadow fell slowly across Kurogiri's face, a masked visage coming nose-to-nonexistent nose. The monster beneath the leather mask smiled unseen at their creation strapped below. Fingers dug deep into flesh and bone and with nary a twitch causing them to come undone and remade. Golden eyes gleamed with ghastly delight as alchemical energies ignited and sparked as flesh and bone and Quirks alike came apart and rejoin at the monster's whim.

"Call me Overhaul."