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Saturdays at U.A. always dragged. The kids got the day off early, but the teachers had no such luxury. They generally spent the full day in the office, frantically trying to get back on top of all the work they procrastinated over the week... or maybe it was just Toshinori who did that.
A cheery little news notification popped up on his phone, and Toshinori tapped it immediately, grateful for the distraction. One of his office staff had finally shown mercy on him and taught him how to set up trackers after the app decided to roll out a “new and upgraded layout” (what was so bad about the old one?). He was keeping tabs on many things, but at the top of the list was a feed to collect any mentions of Izuku Midoriya.
As he expected, the article was reporting on another successful week of hero work from the interns at Endeavor Agency. The headline image was dominated by Bakugo and Todoroki: Bakugo caught mid-yell at something off-frame, and Todoroki gazing towards the camera with crossed arms and effortless, photogenic calm. Far behind both of them, he spied the green of Midoriya’s costume. The poor boy seemed like he was trying to subtly hide behind his classmates, and was staring at the camera with a look like he’d just eaten shellfish several years past its expiration date.
Toshinori smiled faintly. This was a frequent occurrence. Midoriya had still not quite learned to exude that “I am here” charisma when he was in front of cameras.
Aizawa’s voice rang out a few millimeters from his left ear. “Working hard on the essay grading, I see.”
Toshinori jumped. “A-Aizawa!” he stammered. “Hello!”
“And curbing your favoritism, as always,” Aizawa leaned back from over his shoulder. He glanced down at the image on Toshinori’s phone with his typical languid-yet-razor-sharp gaze. “With the amount of time you two spend together, you’d think Midoriya would have picked up some of your charm in front of the press.”
Toshinori rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Well, he’s been working hard on other things... he’ll come into his own eventually, I’m sure!”
Aizawa made a noncommittal noise. “As long as it doesn’t involve any more broken limbs.” He strolled off towards the door, apparently already done with his work. “Don’t forget to put the grades in the online tracker too.”
“Of course!” Toshinori called. He eyed the snake of sticky-notes trailing down the edge of his monitor like a streamer. He was sure he’d stuck that reminder somewhere.
He glanced back down at his phone, at the image, and sighed. Aizawa barely knew a fraction of the time the two of them spent together, which made him even more right. Midoriya should have picked up these things, long ago.
When Toshinori took on his successor, he hadn’t been sure what to expect, but he still never expected anything like this. Sure, he wasn’t a professional teacher, but he was a skilled Pro Hero. How hard could it be to teach someone to use a Quirk he’d worked with for 40 years?
Very hard, as it turned out. Much harder than his young pupil’s bones, which snapped like dry twigs at the slightest provocation. But even after they got that under control, his protégé was still... different, in so many fundamental ways.
When they first met, Toshinori chose him because they seemed so alike. An identical heroic fire burned in the boy’s eyes. But all the other things that came naturally, thoughtlessly to Toshinori were huge hurdles to Midoriya. And whenever Toshinori tried to impart his knowledge, he struggled and fumbled and somehow his advice transformed into vague microwave metaphors that he had to admit were not very helpful. It was nothing like the side-by-side, joyful camaraderie he always expected it to be.
Midoriya had gotten one-on-one training from the greatest hero in Japan, for over a year, yet he was still making far more progress during these short weeks at Endeavor’s agency than he ever had under Toshinori’s tutelage. And now that Toshinori’s Quirk was gone, he would be even less qualified to help. He had a vast wealth of experience and skill, and he couldn’t pass down any of it.
He squinted at the screen. But Quirk or not, this... this he could teach, couldn’t he? Surely, this of all things was something he could grant to his young student. The internships only covered the customary laundry list of things not to say on air. They didn’t teach the nuances of signature poses, of framing, of charming the camera and giving the news crews shots that would wow the nation. Meanwhile, it wasn’t arrogant to say that he was an expert at looking great for the media. He’d been doing it for decades, and knew just about every trick out there. It would be a terrible waste to let all that experience fade away with the end of his hero career.
Quirk or not, he was still Midoriya’s mentor. He was still All Might. He still had a chance to give the boy the leg up he deserved.
Midoriya showed up to the faculty break room on the dot, as usual. He was excellent at two things: note-taking and punctuality. He peeked in the door, bright-eyed.
“Hi, All Might! I wore my costume like you asked, even though I’m not sure what training we could actually do in the break roo—”
The boy froze as his eyes fell on the white sheet draped over a bookcase, at the full-length mirror set up in the corner, then darted to the big, clunky contraption hanging on a strap around Toshinori’s neck. “Is that... a camera?”
Toshinori clapped his hands together with a grin. “That’s right! Today is a very special training session! We’re going to practice your camera presence!”
Midoriya’s face fell faster than a soufflé at a firing range. “Oh... um... really? W-why?”
“Why?” Toshinori cried. “Because appearance is one of the most important parts of being a hero! How else can you say ‘I am here!’ to the world?”
Midoriya’s eyes drifted back towards the door. “Well... I could... rescue them from villains... that seems like the whole point...”
Ah, what heroic thinking. “Of course that’s important. The people you help will have their lives changed forever.” He held up a finger. “But that’s not the only duty of a hero. It’s also vital to reassure the public at large. You can only reach so many in the line of duty. You might inspire a few hundred at a scene, but you can inspire thousands or millions with a well-crafted, inspirational image. You can reach across the country... across the world!”
Midoriya did not seem thrilled by this rousing speech. Instead, he looked a little queasy. No matter: Toshinori had anticipated that.
“Now, I know you’re not experienced with this. That’s why we’re going to practice!” The Teaching Guide For Dummies book had taught him all about this: you had to work with your student’s weaknesses, not against them. Midoriya was a master of overthinking and overwhelming himself, so Toshinori had set up the simplest possible practice scenario.
“Imagine you’ve just defeated a villain. The police have lifted the barricades, the civilians are taken care of. You’re about to head back to patrol when, from behind you...” Toshinori lifted the camera hanging around his neck, “...you hear the telltale cries of the local news crew! What do you do?”
Midoriya stared at the camera in Toshinori’s hands with naked horror. Well, not exactly the ideal response.
“Wow, it’s the upcoming pro hero Deku!” he prompted, holding the camera up to eye level. Oh, the lens cap was on... well, it didn’t matter right now. “That was an incredible rescue, young man! Can we get a quick shot of you for the evening news?”
“Do they really ask before taking pictures?” Midoriya asked tentatively, still staring at the camera like it was going to shoot live rounds instead of photographs.
Oh, that was a sharp question. “Actually, yes! Since you’re a minor, any news outlets need to get approval from U.A. before they’re allowed to publish images of you.” It was something Aizawa had gone over with Toshinori in blistering detail when he first started working at the school, emphasizing that U.A. did not condone dumb media stunts after gruffly vetoing Toshinori’s request to publish a photoset of him deadlifting the students of class 1-A. The kids were heartbroken, but he could understand the need for student privacy.
“Oh...” Midoriya looked somewhat less distraught at this news. “That’s good...”
“So rest assured, you won’t be stalked from the bushes by the paparazzi... yet.” Toshinori winked. That would certainly change once the world saw more of his incredible feats. “So!” he barked, and Midoriya jumped. “What of it? The adoring camera crew is waiting! Strike them a signature pose!”
Midoriya fumbled like he was hunting for the instruction manual for his own limbs. “I, uh, um...” The loose fabric of his costume rustled as he shuffled his feet, looking more and more frantic, until finally, in a desperate-looking flurry of motion, he planted his feet apart, puffed out his chest with hands on hips, and twisted his expression into—oh, god, it was the All Might Face; the pose was an exact replica of one of Toshinori’s classics.
“That’s...” He wheezed with laughter. Oh, this damnably obsessed fanboy. “That’s very accurate! Did you practice that one?”
Midoriya dropped the pose, the rictus grin shrinking back to his normal shy smile. “Um... a little.” He glanced away. “It’s a great pose!”
Toshinori wasn’t going to argue with that. “It is! The symmetry on that one is excellent if you’re framed in the center of a crowd. But, imagine that you just...” he racked his brain, “...recovered a pile of stolen money. It’s sitting right here.” He patted the faculty room couch. “An amazing photo opportunity! How would you handle it?”
Midoriya looked briefly baffled. He stared at the now-extremely-valuable couch. “...What do you mean?” he asked.
What did he mean, what do you mean? This was becoming as much of a learning experience for him as it was for his young pupil.
According to the teaching guide, he needed to take daunting tasks and break them into a series of simple steps. And apparently, for Midoriya, this was a daunting task. He’d never really thought about all the separate pieces that combined to make the whole of a photo opportunity. He just... did it. But he’d be damned if he fell back on microwave metaphors now.
It seemed almost too simple, but he supposed the first step would be... “Well... to start, where would it be best to stand? Imagine what you want the finished photo to look like. You wouldn’t want to block the view of the recovered valuables, would you?”
That seemed to click. “Oh! Of course! I’d want to stand next to it! And...” That bright little analytical little spark came into Midoriya’s eyes. “And, I’d probably want to pose in a way that would, um... frame it!” He gestured with a gloved hand, trying to find the word. “...Composition!”
“That’s it!” Toshinori encouraged, but Midoriya didn’t need encouragement anymore; the smile was steadily growing on his face as he began to mentally snowball.
“There’s a reason you have so many poses and not just one!” he continued. “I knew there had to be some kind of reasoning behind it, I just never really thought about why... that’s brilliant! I’ve got to re-categorize all my archi—” he caught himself, glanced back at Toshinori with a sudden mortified look. “I mean... um,” he stammered, “I don't know much about composition. I’m not really artistic. How do you know what to do?”
“Oh, I’m certainly not either!” Toshinori laughed. His media team reminded him of this on the regular, and so did all the shots where he accidentally blocked out half of another hero’s face with his bulging pectorals. Now that he was being photographed in his skinny form, the journalists were always reminding him to stand closer to people, since he no longer had a mountain of muscles to get in the way.
“You just...” here he was again with breaking things down into steps. Maybe a visual demonstration would be easier for both of them. He imagined the cheer of the crowd, of a green-haired journalist rushing up to document the event. “Let’s pretend you have the camera. You just...” He glanced down at how he’d placed himself next to the couch. Right. “With most poses, you want to be dynamic! See how I’m not entirely facing you?”
Midoriya was rapt. “Right, you’re facing the couch! To draw attention to it! But your face is turned towards me.”
Dusty memories of “45 degree angle” and “closer means bigger” were firing off in his head now. “Not just to draw attention to the couch! Angling your body is almost always more flattering. If you look at professional shots, you’ll notice that almost every one has the person’s body turned at least a little!”
Toshinori could see the gears turning in Midoriya’s head. “But then, what about the pose I just did?” Midoriya pointed out. “You don’t turn in that one.”
Ah, now it was coming together. “A head-on pose is less relaxed, less animated. If you do it without thinking, it can make you look wooden.” Toshinori planted his feet straight and faced Midoriya head-on. “See?”
Midoriya’s fingers looked like they were itching to hold a notebook and pencil. “You’re right... you looked more interesting when you were turned.”
“But,” Toshinori lifted his arms, “At the same time, a head-on pose looks more solid and powerful. So, if that’s the effect you want...” He grinned wide, and drew on the tiny guttering scrap of power deep inside his chest. His old muscles burst out in a rush of steam and flying dress shirt buttons, and Midoriya’s face lit up in awe. “...then by all means, use it!” he boomed. Then, a second later, stumbled as the extra bulk suddenly vanished and his lung seized up.
“A-All Might!” Midoriya cried. Toshinori waved him off as he hacked. A little coughing was worth it. The effect worked well in photos, but it worked even better in person: the stars in Midoriya’s eyes proved that without a doubt.
“Now it’s your turn!” Toshinori pointed towards the mirror as he wiped his mouth with his other hand. “It takes practice, just like any signature move.” Hopefully no blood got on the camera.
Midoriya cringed. “You really... practice in front of a mirror?”
“Of course! How else are you going to see how you look?”
“I mean...” Midoriya looked deeply uncomfortable, but he couldn’t refute irrefutable logic. Toshinori shooed the boy over as he discreetly tried to check for indecently ripped seams. It was still worth it, but much more inconvenient now that he was wearing fitted clothing.
The more they practiced, the more things Toshinori realized there were to teach. And it was much more involved than just teaching the boy to copy his poses (from the looks of it, Midoriya had already done plenty of that on his own. Silly fanboy.) It was the same issue Toshinori had faced over and over: despite holding the same Quirk, Midoriya was a very different kind of hero, both in physical shape and in attitude.
So, they innovated. Toshinori lifted his chin so much in his photos, he explained, because of his height: most people photographed him from below. For the younger, shorter Midoriya, a straight-on or slightly lowered head would probably look more appealing. And Midoriya simply couldn’t pull off the impressive frontal shots available to someone whose chest was as wide as it was tall. Instead of trying to emphasize bulk that wasn’t there, they experimented with the pose Midoriya took when using Shoot Style. His legs planted firm, arms outstretched towards the camera, fingers poised to fire off a shot, determined eyes framed by his intimidating face mask... it sent shivers down Toshinori’s spine. This boy was going to take the world by storm.
And yet, no matter how good he looked, Midoriya couldn’t seem to see it for more than a fleeting moment. With each new pose they tried, the boy regressed back into a cringing mess, and it took endless patient coaxing before his wooden poses finally relaxed and he began to get engaged and excited again. He got especially distraught when Toshinori insisted on taking photos in front of the makeshift photo backdrop to document their successful ideas. A few times, Toshinori had to physically herd him back in front of the mirror.
“I promise, you’re not going to be attacked by that fellow!” he cried. “That’s you!”
Midoriya winced. “I know...”
“This is what the crowds are going to see out there! Imagine how many people you can inspire!” Midoriya certainly looked like he was imagining, but it wasn’t having the effect Toshinori assumed it would. “This is your way of telling the world, ‘I am here!’ You’re showing them your vision! Your genuine self!”
“But...” When Midoriya spoke, it was quiet. “What if they don’t like my genuine self?”
Toshinori frowned. He’d heard this sort of thing in many forms, from many people. It always felt beside the point. “Of course there’s going to be people who don’t like you,” he replied. Midoriya’s eyes began to widen in terror, and Toshinori snapped his fingers. “Hey! Think about it. You’ll be fighting villains every day. Do you think they’ll like you?”
“I mean...” Midoriya frowned. “That’s different.”
“It’s not as different as you might think. Do you think everyone likes me? Of course not!”
That seemed to make a dent. “That’s true...” Midoriya murmured. “No matter what you did during your hero career, there was always someone trying to take it the wrong way. Even when you saved that prenatal ward full of babies, there was a tabloid saying it was tacky of you to make a speech about it!”
“Yes,” Toshinori coaxed. “Exactly. Everyone has different opinions. It doesn’t make them right. Sometimes they’ll bring up good points, and you can listen and do better next time. But no matter what, there will always be contrarians making noise. After a certain point, you just need to show your vision to the world as best you know how.”
Midoriya had a little smile on his face, glancing down in the half-absorbed way he did when he was knee-deep in a thought. “And, I mean... if I’m following your vision, I guess I can’t really go wrong. I’m carrying on your legacy.”
On the surface, it seemed like a good takeaway. But the phrasing of it struck Toshinori.
“It’s your vision they’re going to see, young Midoriya,” he said, softly.
A dark cloud passed over the boy’s face at the words. “I guess...” Midoriya murmured, fidgeting. And once again, Toshinori could see that huge gap, a fundamental difference between him and his successor.
He had questioned many things in his life. He questioned how to convey his message, who to work with, what methods to use... but never, not ever, the worth of the message itself. That had always been self-evident. The sky was blue, and his beliefs were worth repeating. He knew what was right, and who he wanted to be. He had never realized what a luxury that was until he met Midoriya.
The boy had the same heroic passion... and yet, somehow, he worried that he could be wrong about it. That if people judged, it had to mean something. Were people born without that self-assurance? Or did they have it stripped away as they grew? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he never really had to work for it. Meanwhile, his successor wasn’t as lucky.
And yet, that made Midoriya’s progress even more impressive. To lack that surety, but choose to keep pushing forward anyway... that required an inner strength that Toshinori had never needed to learn.
A strength he'd never learned, and couldn't impart. It was yet another obstacle that Toshinori couldn't show him how to overcome, yet another lesson that Toshinori couldn't teach. Once more, he was helpless to do anything but watch his student struggle alone.
Briefly, he recalled the stars in Midoriya's eyes as he had watched Toshinori strike his signature pose.
“You showed me your vision when I first met you,” Toshinori said. “It’s what made me decide to give you my Quirk.”
Midoriya looked up at him with wide eyes. It was the same sort of expression Toshinori had seen on him the first day they met.
“And remember:” he raised a finger, “that vision of yours has saved me, and your classmates, and that boy Kota. There may be people who don’t like it, but it’s already proven itself, many times over. They can think whatever they want, they can say whatever they want, but they can never take that proof away from you.”
It took a long moment before Midoriya replied. He ducked his head, glanced away. “R-right...” he whispered, with a shaky smile. “...Thank you.”
It was a wistful happiness he felt. Maybe he couldn't lead the way. Maybe all he could do was stand on the sidelines. But even if he didn't hold the map... he could still be there, cheering Midoriya on, as the boy found his own path. Maybe that was exactly what his successor needed.
Toshinori could spy the trembling lip and telltale glimmer of impending waterworks. Which was very touching, and he couldn't blame the boy, but it was also something Midoriya desperately needed practice with. “Now, let’s tighten up this look!” he said. “You want to stand like you’re pinching a pencil between your shoulder blades. Chest out!”
Midoriya shook his head and sniffed. “O-okay!” He blinked, and his wobbly smile got bigger. He shifted back, turning slightly, lifting his arms in a fighting pose. “Like this?”
“That’s perfect! Hold that grin!”
But before Toshinori could snap a picture, the door to the break room slid open. Aizawa stopped in the doorway, coffee cup in hand, taking in the scene: the photo backdrop, the mirror, the high school teacher with half his shirt buttons missing, taking candid photos of his student in a secluded empty room without the knowledge or permission of any parents or faculty.
His stare fixed on Toshinori. “This,” he said, “Is going to need an excellent explanation.”
Another Saturday, another pile of grading that had somehow crept up over the week, despite Toshinori’s most valiant efforts. And another weekly summary article about the interns at Endeavor Agency.
Once again, the headline shot was dominated by Bakugo and Todoroki. Bakugo stared down his nose at the camera, Todoroki had his customary distant unaffected look. Midoriya was still off to the side, but this time, he stood next to his peers. He still had a slightly deer-in-headlights look, but his shoulders were relaxed, his pose more natural.
And his smile... it was small, but warm. It was still a work in progress. It wasn’t brimming with confidence yet. Midoriya was still earning that, through struggle and hard work, just like he had earned his Quirk. But even now, it shone with the genuine happiness of someone who was overjoyed to be there, helping, serving the people. The smile of someone you could look up to.
He sat back with a smile of his own. The two of them were so different. In many ways, Midoriya was braver than Toshinori had ever been.