Chapter Text
Dazai Osamu and the UA Entrance Exam
D azai Osamu had taken down armies.
He had. Single handedly.
(Well, almost single handedly. But in this case, the other party in question was Chuuya, who was less like a helping hand and more like an appendix in that he was relatively useless and tended to explode at the most inconvenient moments).
But that wasn’t the point.
The point was that Dazai had taken down armies single handedly. He was a master. A powerhouse. The leader of the infamous Double Black, for goodness sake.
(After all, one of them had to be the leader, and it wasn’t going to be Chuuya. Again, he was less like the head and more like the appendix. The appendix while it was going through the first stages of rupturing, at that).
Dazai sighed. He really needed to stop thinking about Chuuya of all people during perilous situations.
From his position crouched behind the remains of a bench, he surveyed his surroundings. What once resembled a cityscape had transformed into mountains of ash and debris. They littered a ground of torn up concrete, rendering it completely invisible. Towering glass buildings and brick layered shop fronts were unrecognisable amongst a sea of wreckages. The scene spanned out before him like a panorama. Somewhat beautiful in its hopelessness, he mused.
Sounds of destruction- echoes of the chaos ahead- blared around him like alarms, but all of the fighting was blocked from his view. It served to make the experience seem slightly surreal. Dazai’s lips twitched upwards, minutely.
It was a stupid situation. He had taken down armies single handedly. He was a master. A powerhouse. The leader of Double Black. And yet here he was, taking a god damn high school entrance exam. Sure he was fifteen, and this was what normal fifteen year olds did, but for the reasons stated above, Osamu Dazai was not a normal fifteen year old.
At least, he supposed, the high school was not normal either. UA High School for heroics was a lot of things, but normal was decidedly not one of them.
Pulling at the sleeves of his black coat, Dazai stood up from his shelter, languidly. He had racked up a couple of points in the entrance exam so far, but not nearly enough to ensure a spot in class 1A. The test was, unfortunately, not well suited to his abilities. If you asked Dazai, it actually felt like a strange form of discrimination- or at least an oversight on the part of the UA exam coordinators.
The written test had gone according to plan (Dazai had littered a few inaccuracies amongst otherwise flawless paragraphs, penned an error or two into his formulas) and there was no doubt in his mind that he would be given a percentage in the low nineties.
The practical test was, in a sense, going to plan too. But it pissed him off that he’d even needed to concoct a plan to beat this ridiculous challenge.
Whoever had chosen massive robots as the targets deserved to be fired on the spot (in Dazai’s humble opinion). In what world did heroes have to fight giant, mechanical foes rather than real villains? Humans with hands to be forced, hearts to be manipulated (and notably, quirks to be nullified)?
There was no use dwelling on it now, Dazai knew, but that didn’t stop him from feeling somewhat disdainful.
He did, however, have a plan to rack up some points. A plan that, as the clock ticked down to show three remaining minutes and the head of a somehow even bigger robot broke up the skyline, could only now come into fruition.
Dazai dusted down his shoulders before starting a light jog towards his destination. He wondered, briefly, how Chuuya was doing, before forcing the thought from his mind. He had a job to do.
—
Nakahara Chuuya and the UA Entrance Exam
“F uck yeah!”
Ask the Chuuya of last week what he’d be doing on Wednesday morning and he’d probably suggest a couple of answers. Maybe trying different teas with Kouyou (unfortunately not). Training his martial arts with the black lizards (thankfully not). Or even out on a mission with Dazai (closer to the truth than one might believe). In the most literal sense, though, he was beating up huge, killer robots in a high school, surrounded by amateur quirk users and in an arena about a kilometre away from his least favourite suicidal bastard. Honestly, he was having a pretty great time.
He leapt over the roof of another building, legs propelling him, gravity pushing him up. Crushed a robot beneath his palm, almost absentmindedly, as he swung through the city. A voice in the back of his mind was telling him not to overdo it, not to differentiate himself too much from the pack of frankly pathetic middle schoolers around him. But really, this was just too easy. Plus, the voice sounded an awful lot like Hirotsu’s, and that was reason enough to disobey in itself.
Chuuya couldn’t help but think back to why he was even here in the first place as he flew. Red locks tangled around him. The breeze caressing his face felt like falling in love.
—
“Dazai-kun, Chuuya-kun, thank you for coming to see me on such short notice.”
Mori Ougai’s office was quiet for once. Elise was nowhere to be seen. That was the first sign that whatever had prompted this meeting was serious. Chuuya shared a glance with Dazai, who had clearly come to the same conclusion.
The office hadn’t changed since the last time Chuuya had been in it, almost three months ago. All high ceilings and a long, mahogany table that appeared to be antique. Even though the room overlooked an expansive view of Yokohama, it still held a certain darkness to it that was yet to be chased out.
“No problem, boss,” Chuuya replied, hesitantly. Dazai had that look in his eyes, the one he got whenever he saw Mori, so it was probably best not to let him engage.
“What can we do for you?”
Mori tilted his head slightly as he gazed at Chuuya, lips contorted into a smirk and hands rested gently on the arms of his chair. He seemed almost impressed, Chuuya thought, as he took the initiative.
“I’ll admit that this is a bit of a strange one. Not difficult as such, but certainly out of the ordinary.”
Mori stood up, approaching the huge window beside him. The introduction seemed to have peaked Dazai’s interest, but Chuuya just felt cold tendrils of dread curl up inside him.
Abruptly, Mori turned to face them.
“Yokohama has seen a higher number of hero patrols since January than it did in the entirety of last year.”
The spring picture painted outside showed it to be April, and Chuuya felt an involuntary shudder pass through him. He had noticed some sort of influx in heroes lately, but to think it was so drastic…
“Needless to say, this is not ideal. For both the Port Mafia as an organisation, and in a wider sense, the citizens of Yokohama, who have thoroughly rejected a hero-led society since the drawing of the quirk era.”
His hands were clenching into fists. His teeth gritting tightly. The very word ‘hero’ bought about a gut reaction; it twisted his insides like wringing a wet towel. Before he could act out, Dazai finally stepped in. His voice was cool and calm in the way it always was when he addressed Mori.
“I don’t see how Chuuya and I come into this. Killing all the heroes who walk into the town wouldn’t exactly solve our problems.”
It was a little strange, Chuuya observed, to hear Dazai speak like that. He seemed guarded, somehow. Defensive in a way that hinted at protectiveness.
“You’re right. That would only sever the Yokohama Treaty, and thus the government and hero council’s leniency. What I have in mind for you two is,” he trailed off, tilting his head. “A little more specific.”
—
So yeah. For reasons that Chuuya still had yet to puzzle through, he and Dazai were being enrolled in the most prominent hero school in Tokyo, maybe even all of Japan.
‘To infiltrate the fundamental essence of hero society’, Mori had said. ‘To create a foothold in the next generation of heroes’.
Still, the logic didn’t quite add up. Chuuya was certain that there was another factor somewhere, another reason that Mori was keeping hidden. He supposed it wasn’t his job to question, but to act.
The other entrance candidates were an interesting bunch, he thought, absentmindedly. An honestly psychotic blonde guy was blowing everything up. A semi-Martian looking girl was secreting odd fluids from her hands (if a drop got on Chuuya’s hat he would freak the fuck out). Not to mention the disembodied school uniform he had seen wondering around.
Her quirk wasn’t really suited to this exam, though, so Chuuya doubted he’d see her again.
It was the flashier ones that had the advantage- his own and explosion kid’s over there.
(He briefly spared a thought for how Dazai was doing, but let the idea wash over him. If anyone could power through this exam, basically quirkless, it was that bastard).
He crushed another robot as the timer ticked down to its final seconds. A gong sounded, the noise resonating around the partially destroyed city-scape, and all the robots came to a halt. A voice chimed over speakers that must have surrounded the arena:
“The UA practical exam is over. Candidates in Arenas A, B and D should advance to their nearest exit point where a pro hero will be waiting to escort them out. Candidates in Arenas C and E should remain in their position and wait for a pro hero to reach them due to large amounts debris in the arena making movement unsafe.”
Suppressing a laugh, Chuuya joined the stream of kids walking towards the exit gate. Dazai was in C. And in all likelihood, he was absolutely fuming.
As he walked, he noticed a figure ahead of him. Not because they stood out particularly among the throngs of mutants and weirdos, but because they were moving in an odd manner. Limping.
Pushing past a couple of chattering students, Chuuya reached the boy’s side.
He appeared relatively normal at first glance, tall and toned, with bright red hair styled in a strange, spiky manner. If one looked closer, however, they would find an ocean of crevices lining his skin, and a hard substance akin to stone sprinkled over the tips of his fingers. The fading remnants of some sort of transformation quirk, perhaps.
Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to help the kid out. Maybe all these hero students were rubbing their germs off on him. Maybe he was simply an alright person. Maybe the mission-oriented part of him wanted to get closer to a could-be classmate, or maybe something about a bunch of fifteen come sixteen year olds training to carry the weight of the world just didn’t sit right.
“Hey, man,” the boy said, cheerily, teeth baring in a smile.
Chuuya glanced behind him quickly, but no one was replying. He realised, with a start, that he was the ‘man’ in question.
“Umm hi,” he said, as the other boy laughed good-naturedly. He clamped down on the blood that was rushing to his cheeks.
“My name is Kirishima. Kirishima Ejirou.”
Kirishima held his hand out to shake.
“I’m Nakahara Chuuya.”
Chuuya shook it.
“Are you alright there? You’re walking a bit…”
Kirishima grinned.
“Don’t worry about me, dude. My quirk is pretty defensive so I had a tough time with the exam. Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m hopeful!”
He beamed, punching Chuuya’s arm lightly as they approached the gate.
“Thanks for asking. That was pretty manly.”
They parted ways after that. But the conversation didn’t leave Chuuya’s mind. It was weird, interacting with another kid his age. One who wasn’t a complete head case like Dazai, or codependent like the sheep had been.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked away, grinning.
Lingering by the huge gateway to UA, Chuuya decided to make his way back to his and Dazai’s apartment (mafia perks) alone. Couldn’t have the asshole think Chuuya was worried about him or something.
—
Dazai Osamu and the UA Entrance Exam
T he plan had originally been born following a patented ‘Dazai plotting session’. He had been curled up on the lime green couch (the one that he’d spent all his savings on) with his laptop on the table in front of him. Chuuya had been digging through the fridge, occasionally calling out a dinner suggestion.
Stretching his fingers, he hunched over the laptop, taking to the search bar.
UA entrance exam
Naturally, he went straight to the AllOurMight hero blog. He scrolled through the topics until he found a list of previous entrance exam subjects, just begging to be analysed.
urmyhero • List of all the UA practical exams since 2160:
- Quirk presentation to panel of pro heroes (2160-72)
- Dummy hostage situation (2173, 77, 80)
- Obstacle course (2174, 76)
- Fighting robots (2175)
- Laser tag style game (2178, 79)
What are our predictions for 2181?
Copying the list, Dazai transferred the information to a spreadsheet. A couple more clicks got him the GDP of Japan for each year, the economic growth of Tokyo, and that of UA itself. It was hard to make any connections, but a scatter graph showed correlation pretty quickly: the richer UA was, the higher chance of a shiny new entrance exam.
The statistic seemed relatively unsurprising in hindsight, and was decidedly vague. But given the situation, it was quite powerful. Recently, All Might had been somewhat absent in the world of heroics- many people assumed that he had something important brewing, but rumours about possible retirement had been circulating as well. The worth of Tokyo had dropped noticeably as a result, suggesting to Dazai that an exam would be recycled.
His next hint was an article that had been published six months prior.
UA Heroics School Clamps Down on Leaking Information
It may seem as though UA high school has an open relationship with the public and the media, but earlier today, this was called into question. The school famous for its successful alumni and teachers, as well its annually televised sports festival, has recently been trying to reduce the amount of information being made known to the general public. Although, not to much success.
In the press conference held last Saturday, head of public relations, pro hero Present Mic, commented that ‘at the end of the day, [UA] is still a school to which pupils entrust their personal details. Details which absolutely must remain secure and private.’
Additionally, exam coordinator Yamaguchi Yuta stated: ‘although [UA] aims to effectively communicate with citizens and heroes, as in any organisation, a certain level of secrecy must be maintained.’
This article concatenated with his previous deduction was enough for Dazai to conclude that the next entrance exam would surely be the path least travelled- the robot fighting exam. Possibly with a twist.
Dazai let an evil grin overtake his face, before it was promptly wiped off by a flying cushion, and a call of:
“Stop being so fucking creepy!”
And that was how Dazai found himself in the current situation, ready to put the plan he had painstakingly formulated from his previous calculations into action.
The UA exam consisted of four types of robots. The one pointers (no larger than a two-story house and with poor combat ability), the two pointers (slightly larger than a two-story house and with adequate combat ability), the three pointers (definitively larger than a two-story house and with decent combat ability). It followed that next would come a four pointer, but this was not the case.
Finally came the zero pointer robot, of which there was only one. It was probably about the size of a three-story house, and had gigantic firepower. It was, however, notably slower than the other robots. Dazai supposed that anything of such a size was never going to be agile.
The whole concept of the zero pointer robot had immediately seemed strange to Dazai when it was introduced. Why bother? No one in their right mind would try to fight it, so it would just lumber around taking swipes at candidates. Anyone with decent coordination or any basic survival instincts should be able to get away from it just fine.
This robot wasn’t meaningless, no, very few things in life are meaningless. It also wasn’t a trick or a trap of any sort. This robot was something of a get-out-of-jail-free card. It had to be.
Being able to beat the zero pointer would be impressive for an untrained fifteen year old. They would stand out from the crowd. Perhaps rather than zero points meaning ‘worthless’, it actually meant ‘priceless’; perhaps it was a shortcut to success. Or a way for a candidate previously low on points to stand out to the teachers.
(The point system itself suggested that candidates with the highest number of points would receive a pass, but it was never explicitly stated).
Dazai had formed his plan entirely around this basis, and continued running towards the zero pointer in the distance. A makeshift spear that he had salvaged from the debris earlier remained tight in his grip.
His plan was not actually to defeat the zero pointer himself. No way in hell. There were two reasons for this: one was that the brains didn’t do the dirty work and the other was that he was pretty sure he physically couldn’t.
No, he would play the role of the head. Find some do-gooder willing to be his appendix, or arm, or even elbow given that they had enough jabbing power to fight for him. Then take the final kill- call it teamwork. When the teachers later traversed their database, searching for the recorded name of the killer of the zero pointer… boom. Dazai Osamu at your service.
For any other robot, his plan would probably get him beaten up by some fifteen year old hero wannabe; for the zero pointer, it was perfect. There were literally no points to be beaten up over. Most of the kids here probably didn’t even realise that the robots contained a special mechanism to record their killer. Dazai had seen the little device before though, and recognised it instantly upon his first kill.
He skidded up to the monstrous form of the zero pointer, coat flapping behind him. His eyes locked on a small, blue-ish figure that was charging towards it. Perfect.
Narrowing his eyes, Dazai took a closer look at the kid that was clearly preparing to engage the robot. He was a little small for his age, a little trembly, but there was a glint of determination in his eyes that gave Dazai a spark of hope for him.
He was dressed in what Dazai assumed was his previous school’s PE kit- mangled though it was- and (somewhat prematurely?) grey bangs gathered around his eyes. Choppy in length.
Dazai ignored the sounds of chaos around him, and scenes of kids desperately running away from the path of the worthless zero pointer. He himself focused on the bangs kid. He watched as a transformation began to take place, and cerulean sparks shot off from the boy’s form like lightning. They twirled and fizzled, and eventually began swirling around the boy in unison. Slowly, behind the curtain of sparks, he began to change.
His form, colouring, size- everything warped. When Dazai’s view was no longer obscured by the curtain, there was no sign of the boy from before. Except for a single spark in those steely eyes.
He had become a tiger.
Dazai whistled, watching as the tiger crouched down, ready to pounce. That was a pretty sexy ability; Dazai briefly found himself pondering over whether Mori would like it. It had been clear to Dazai that he and Chuuya hadn’t been told all the details about their mission, maybe this was the final reason for it. Some sort of recruitment method? The idea was still flawed though, and Dazai let it go to rest.
The tiger sprung. Suddenly and rapidly. The sheer weight of it halted the robot in its monotonous forward movements. Razor sharp claws left grooves in metal. The robot aimed its huge, mechanical arm at the tiger on its chest, but he retreated back to the ground before it reached him.
The robot recovered quickly, even as scraps of metal curled and peeled away from its new wound. The tiger growled.
“Hey, tiger boy!”
Abruptly turning to look around for the caller, the tiger turned its back on the zero pointer. That was when it chose to strike.
Dazai gritted his teeth. He swung into action, sprinting towards the pair and deflecting the incoming hit with his spear.
The tiger watched him, slightly startled. Even if he was clearly a bit of an idiot, he was, at least, lucid in tiger form. That was important.
Dazai turned his head to the tiger, keeping his spear out in front and at the ready.
He had beaten four one pointers and three two pointers throughout the exam. It was a pretty measly number overall, but had given him plenty of time to dissect and investigate the engineering of the robots after each kill.
“The circuit board is located in the neck, just above the left shoulder. That’s where we need to target.”
Something between a growl and a purr came out in response, and Dazai had to stifle his laugh between bandaged fingers.
“I’ll cover your right, so go,” he shouted.
At his words, the tiger sped off to the left.
He dodged and weaved around the robot, a dance interspersed with attacks. His nimble movements had completely outclassed the zero pointer, and Dazai allowed a small voice in his head to praise the boy.
The tiger started throwing in attempts to race up the tiger’s left arm. He was constantly swatted at, and forced to abort. However, they were making slow progress. Meanwhile, Dazai was spinning his spear. He deflected attacks and stabbed at robotic joints.
60 seconds were left on the clock. Dazai cursed.
The pair kept working, kept weaving, perhaps slightly frantically. In fact, Dazai noticed the tiger’s movements become messier and messier, less targeted and more outright feral. Fewer hits landed, and Dazai was getting frustrated.
It was when the robot actually succeeded in its counterattack that Dazai came to a realisation.
Mechanical claws from the left slashed through fur, colouring snow crimson, and the tiger let out a distressed roar.
“Tiger! Get your-”
Dazai stopped, flawed by what he saw.
The tiger had turned to face him, marred by blood, and for a split second, Dazai hadn’t recognised the thing. That clarification, the bright, steely lucidity that had coloured its eyes- that was gone. Replaced by an animalistic haze. It reminded Dazai of Chuuya during corruption. Completely unreachable.
Ignoring him again, the tiger continued its attacks.
The clock was down to 10 seconds, and Dazai knew what had to be done.
He ran in towards the tiger, using his spear as shelter.
5 and he lunged towards the tiger.
4, 3 and he dodged away from the tiger’s swipe, suddenly aimed at him. He narrowly avoided the attack, but his otherwise pristine coat was not so lucky.
2, 1 and his outstretched fingers made contact with the reddened fur of the tiger.
A gong rang out as No Longer Human surrounded the tiger like water. He was a boy again. The robot powered down before him.
The exam had ended, and Dazai felt regret well up inside him like poison in his veins. He had failed the exam. He must have.
He had never really failed a mission before. He let himself wonder what Chuuya would say, what Mori would, and resigned himself to jumping off the nearest bridge rather than listening to it.
“Thank you so much,” a voice whispered almost to itself. It could barely be heard over the instructions telling him to wait in place.
(He was utterly seething about that. What kind of idiot couldn’t move past a little debris. And why did UA care for their health all of a sudden now?)
“Don’t worry about it,” Dazai sighed. “Is your cut alright?”
The boy ran a hand over the bloodied rip in his back.
“It’s fine. The tiger has regenerative abilities.” He shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable about it.
Dazai nodded, committing this boy to memory.
“Dazai Osamu.”
Dazai stuck out his hand.
The boy blinked a couple of times, before a look of realisation passed over him.
“Oh! That’s your name.”
“Yes. And it’s only polite to give me yours now. Or did they not teach basic manners in the jungle? I hear it’s all a little savage down there.” Dazai let his lips quirk up.
The boy laughed.
“It’s Nakajima Atsushi.”
They shook hands. Atsushi glanced down at Dazai’s.
“You’re pretty bandaged up. Is everything okay?”
Dazai didn’t get a chance to say his usual ‘no, no it is not’. They were interrupted by a dark figure walking towards them. A pro hero, Dazai knew, but one that he recognised only from blurred flashes circulating on hero blogs.
Eraserhead. A vigilante type hero with a quirk similar to Dazai’s own. His white capture weapon hung around his neck like a scarf, stark against an otherwise black ensemble. His long hair was wild and unruly, blowing this way and that in the wind.
Dazai wasn’t sure what he expected from the hero, but a calm, perceptive demeanour wasn’t it.
He spoke into a headset as he approached.
“Only two of them in area beta. I’ll take them to the gate now.”
He waited for an affirmation before turning to them. Silently looking them over, he tilted his head in the universal ‘follow me’ gesture.
“Congratulations on completing the exam. If you are in need of medical attention, please follow the clearly marked arrows to Recovery Girl’s office. If not, please sign out at reception and then leave the premises,” the man said. His tone was drab and tired, his words routine. Eraserhead looked kind of like he wanted to die, which was relatable.
Atsushi nodded, thanking the man as they followed him away from the powered down zero pointer robot. Dazai only had time to give it one more hate-filled glare before it was completely out of sight.
“I’m sorry about your coat,” Atsushi mumbled as they walked.
Dazai looked down at the long rip that was splitting the tail of his coat in two, and laughed. He had forgotten all about it, what with most of his energy going into wondering how Mori will react when Dazai inevitably receives his UA rejection letter. He felt his hand shake at his side, and balled it into a fist.
Drawing his expression into a mask of arrogance, he replied, words easy.
“It’ll cost you twenty thousand yen.”
Atsushi started spluttering with a passion, and Dazai grinned again.
“Just kidding! I hate this old thing anyway. Black is so last season.”
Atsushi breathed out an almost comical sigh of relief.
“I would like to ask you a question, though. What happened out there?”
It was a rather ambiguous question, but Atsushi seemed to catch on given his quickly reddening cheeks and minute grimace.
Dazai figured that if he was going to get fucked over, he might as well know why. He felt Eraserhead’s gaze brush over them lightly, but ignored it.
“Sometimes, the tiger,” Atsushi muttered, before pausing. “Sometimes I don’t control it. It controls me.”
Dazai saw red eyes, stark against a familiar face.
“Whenever I panic, something pushes its way out of me. Clawing up into my brain.”
Dazai saw blood around a beating heart, a God living through it.
“It takes me over completely.”
Dazai saw Chuuya in the boy with a beast inside him.
“That’s why I want to become a hero. I want to control the tiger, and myself. I want him to save people for me, rather than hurt them.”
Atsushi looked guiltily at the coat again, before turning to Dazai with a fire in his eyes.
They were almost at the gate, and Eraserhead wasn’t even hiding his contemplative gaze on the two.
Dazai shrugged. He said the words that he’d said to Chuuya days after their first meeting.
“That thing inside you? That’s you too. And it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
Then, he added: “over sharing, much.” Atsushi turned bright red.
—
Honestly, something about Eraserhead’s gaze on him had given Dazai hope, and he had saved his bridge jumping exploits for another time.
As it turns out, he and Chuuya didn’t have to wait long at all to hear the results of the UA entrance exam. About a week afterwards, two matching envelopes arrived in the post.
Given some reflection time, Dazai had taken up a rather philosophical view about his performance. If he got in, yippee ki yay. If he didn’t, at least he didn’t have to spend more time with Chuuya. He also took great pleasure in announcing this, and dodging Chuuya’s half hearted retaliations.
There they stood, staring down at the two envelopes haphazardly splayed on the coffee table. A rare moment of silence lingered between them.
Chuuya was the first to break, running a hand through his hair.
“I haven’t been to school in, like, five years, but the feeling of getting exam results still fucks me up.”
Dazai grinned in response. He picked up the brown envelope addressed to Chuuya, tearing it open to a barrage of complaints.
“What the hell, asshole?”
Chuuya began tugging at the half-opened letter in Dazai’s grip.
“Chuuya! So vicious. And you always say you’re not a chihuahua.”
“Give. That. Back.”
At that moment, three things happened in such a short interval of time, that they appeared to be simultaneous.
First, with a final, definitive pull, Chuuya ripped the paper from Dazai’s hands, just as the latter let go completely. Chuuya went careening to the ground, a string of curses leaving his lips. The envelope went down with him, its contents spilling across the floor.
Next, a flash of light burst out from the fallen items. It was a bright, blueish shimmer that encompassed the whole wall in front of it.
“That doesn’t seem natural.”
Finally, the shape of a man phased into the projected image, and a somehow familiar voice boomed out.
“Nakahara Chuuya, congratulations. Your combined scores on the written and practical assessments have allowed us to offer you a place at UA High.”
It only took Dazai a second to recognise the man in the video as his figure became clearer, taking on shape and colour. An iconic hero suit was on full display, and beam out in full force.
It was none other than Japan’s number one hero- the symbol of peace himself- All Might.
Dazai felt an odd twinge run through him. The sudden appearance of All Might both answered and asked questions; if the hero was affiliated with UA, it explained Mori’s sudden interest in the school. But what was All Might’s role in this?
As virtual All Might talked through some basic admin, Dazai turned to look at Chuuya, surreptitiously. The other looked a little dazed. His eyes were narrowed in that way of his, and head tilted, allowing red locks to tangle before his eyes.
All Might had always gotten to Chuuya, Dazai knew, for reasons that he had never really pushed to discover.
Unbidden, his hand stretched out to tap Chuuya’s arm.
“Nice of them to send an audio file, don’t you think?”
Chuuya looked at him inquisitively.
“They probably figured that even a dog trained by such a spectacular owner must be illiterate.”
And then Chuuya was back, snapping and growling and petulantly focusing on the video. Dazai smiled.
All Might was still speaking when he returned his attention to the screen.
“- total score is first place overall. A truly outstanding result. Your practical test score was tied first, and your written exam just edged you over the top. My most sincere and heartfelt congratulations.”
Chuuya twitched. A small, clicking sound left his lips. To Dazai, it sounded suspiciously like the sweet, sweet chime of a bell, marking his victory in a battle that he hadn’t even been fighting. A surge of realisation swept over him like a tidal wave.
He slowly turned to face Chuuya, lips pulling into a smile involuntarily. After a moment, the other noticed him.
“What?”
“You were going all out, weren’t you?”
Chuuya looked confused for a moment, before his eyes cleared, and then widened in horror.
“No! Fuck no! That would have blown the mission-”
“You were going all out. And you tied for first. With a middle schooler.”
“I was not going all out,” Chuuya yelled. Dazai stifled a laugh behind his fist. “And what about you, shitty Dazai? Did you even make it in at all?”
Dazai pouted at Chuuya’s victorious look.
“Guess we’re about to find out,” he sighed. “How do I shut this guy up? He’s been talking for like, twenty minutes. There’s nothing more to say.”
After failing to control the device for a couple of seconds, Dazai simply crushed it under his shoe. The video instantly turned off. Chuuya looked like he wanted to complain, but ultimately couldn’t fault the efficient method.
He picked Dazai’s envelope off the table more gently. Peeling it open, he studied the recorder inside. It was completely black and smooth- free of any buttons or obvious control panels. He just set the rectangular device onto a coaster, and they waited for it to begin.
It only took a couple of seconds for the same blue light and mountainous figure to appear on their wall again.
“Dazai Osamu,”
Dazai looked away.
“Congratulations. Your combined scores on the written and practical assessments have allowed us to offer you a place at UA High.”
He stilled.
“What?”
A grin started to pull at the corners of his lips.
“Fuck yes,” Chuuya whooped, arm thrown around Dazai’s shoulder. “Now Mori won’t murder you and incinerate your body.”
Dazai laughed.
“A shame, really.”
And they continued to watch the All Might on screen. Closer than they had Chuuya’s, taking in all the information.
Dazai was slightly surprised to find that they seemed to have personalised all the videos, not just Chuuya’s first place result.
“You might-”
Chuuya audibly gagged at the ‘All Might’ pun.
“Be wondering how your score qualified you. Well, not only was your written test of tremendous success, but your practical score was likely higher than you expected too.”
He inhaled.
“UA is a high school for heroics. First and foremost, to be a good hero, you need the ability to put others above yourself and act to protect them, even to your own detriment. We are aware that our entrance exams are often poorly suited to candidates with non-combat specific quirks. And because of these reasons, rescue points were born.”
Dazai nodded slowly, pondering the concept. Honestly, it hadn’t been too far off from his own predictions concerning the zero pointer and Eraserhead’s assessments of him. Still, it was a bit of a shock to hear.
These rescue points seemed to be the internet’s best kept secret, though. Dazai had absolutely decimated all hero blogs to no mention of them.
“Rescue points are a parallel scoring system on the practical exam that are later combined with villain points and in some cases, a judging panel’s assessment to create your total. Most students never receive or hear of rescue points, as they are given out very rarely. Each rescue point is worth ten villain points. This brings your total practical score to 40 points.”
Chuuya was looking at him strangely. Brows furrowed.
“You’re really-”
Chuuya faltered. And Dazai leapt on that moment of opportunity like a predator.
“I’m really…?”
The ginger scowled, ripping his arm away from the other’s shoulders.
“You’re really schemey and manipulative. How the hell did you figure out that rescue points existed? Who even thinks about that shit?”
Laughing, Dazai stretched his arms out to the sides.
“Are you suggesting that I’m not just an upright young gentleman who saves others without thinking about the benefits? Or are you shocked that sometimes we can use our brains rather than our brawn to solve problems?”
He ducked just as the crushed remnants of Chuuya’s entrance recording were flung at his head. Although really, this only served to prove his point.
From then on, All Might said very little of interest. Only telling them to read the rest of the contents of their envelopes in which they’d find forms to fill as well as various preparatory measures. When the tape shut off, they did as instructed. There were mainly admissions forms, but in Dazai’s, he found a document requesting that he does not explain the concept of rescue points to any third parties. He supposed that was why the points had been practically wiped from the Internet.
Chuuya grabbed the burner phone that Mori had left them with from the drawer in his bedroom. It was a sleek, new thing; space grey in colour and regular in size.
He tapped out a quick message, his thumbs moving across the screen expertly.
We both passed. NC in first overall. DO received ‘rescue points’. All Might has connections to UA. Nothing else outstanding.
A chime signalled a reply barely a minute later.
Congratulations are in order, then.
Chuuya, it is too late to recover your anonymity. Play up the ‘number one student’ role. Please integrate into the class as a reliable pillar.
Dazai, forge connections amongst not only the class, but also the student body as a whole.
More instructions will be sent at a later date.
Dazai blatantly adorned a look of revulsion as he read the message over Chuuya’s shoulder. Eventually, he skulked back over to his forms as Chuuya returned the phone to the drawer.
They were disrupted again only by Dazai’s gasp. His eyes were widened almost comically as he stared down at a document. Looking up, Chuuya prompted him to explain himself.
“Chuuya, this is a form for hero costumes! Hero. Costumes. It’s makeover time!”
Dazai was practically glowing with happiness, sprawled out on the carpet.
“We’re not in a fucking Barbie movie,” Chuuya retorted. Still, Dazai knew from the way he rolled over and readjusted himself on the sofa that he was hiding a smile. If there was one thing Dazai knew about the guy who dressed like a vampire fashion icon and hoarded dress shoes, it was that he loved a makeover.
“Please. We both know that the image of me and you prancing around in skintight suits is in your wet dreams.”
Chuuya choked on the air.
“You fucking-”
“Hit a nerve?”
Dazai failed to avoid the television remote that came hurtling towards him.
“Now that hit a nerve,” Dazai said, rubbing his cheek.
Several pens later, Dazai held up a takeout menu they had ordered from the other night, proudly. An ink-stained sketch marred one corner. Chuuya leaned forwards, peering towards it.
“All black? Really?” Chuuya asked, incredulous. “If I saw someone coming at me in that, I’d run back towards the burning building or whatever.”
Dazai pouted. He had quite liked his hero costume design. It consisted of his usual long black coat (plus more pockets because practicality, and with a kevlar lining because duh), a black athletic top and cargo pants, as well as black combat boots (heavy and strong but bouncy). Naturally, this was all topped off by bandages wrapped loosely around each article of clothing. The only part that wasn’t black.
Dazai fought pretty exclusively with guns, but he drew a few knives into the jacket pockets as well, for good measure.
Chuuya sighed at the paper, ultimately resigned to his fate.
“You can keep the black under layer, but the coat has to change. To tan, I think.”
“What about bright pink with a high collar?”
“Tan with a high collar or I’m subscribing to loads of vegan recipe mailing lists using your email address.”
“Scary.”
Scribbling out his prior drawing, Dazai reworked his sketch.
“It’s still not very heroic.”
Chuuya rolled over on the sofa, kicking his legs about absentmindedly.
“No, it’s not. Don’t most heroes have, like, a symbol of some sort? All Might has his logo thing. Endeavour’s got his flaming moustache. Hawks has his fucking lit wings…”
Twirling his pen in thought, Dazai added a final je ne sais quoi to the drawing, holding it up again under the ceiling lamp.
The addition was a small blue gem stone situated in the centre of the chest.
Chuuya nodded at it, approvingly.
“I think it’s the closest you’ll ever get to chic.”
“I’ll take that as the compliment it is! Now it’s your turn.” Dazai grinned, wickedly.
It was only for a split second, but Chuuya stilled in his position on the couch. His lips pursed.
“A hero costume, huh?”
Dazai stayed silent, for once. He took his pen to paper again.
He had finished a couple of minutes later, and waved the design at Chuuya.
This time, he had gone for something closer to a body suit, but certain parts of it were more flared in style: the sleeves tastefully baggier before tightening again into gloves and the calves loose before reconvening at the thighs and ankles.
The whole suit was a gradient of black and lighter grey (according to Dazai’s shitty sketch) and orange detailing ran the length of it.
Black boots and an orange cape added to the outfit, but what Chuuya noticed immediately was the headpiece. It consisted of night vision goggles pulled over a thick black band when not in use. The band covered his hair like a hat before running down to grip the sides of his face like black talons.
For some reason, the existence of a headpiece was strangely touching to Chuuya.
“Chuuya- that look- are you finally accepting your true adoration for me?”
And the moment was gone. Chuuya scoffed, copying Dazai’s design down on his form with some annotations before packing all the papers back into the envelope.
“Your attempt at drawing hands looks more like starfish was drained dry of even a modicum of water before being deep fried and then blended in a food processor.”
“That’s definitely criticism but I wouldn’t call it constructive.”
In response, Chuuya simply sighed. He stood up, and resigned himself to cooking dinner.
—
Shigaraki Tomura on ‘the End’
H eroes and villains. So simple in their nature, so black and white, yes and no, that they’re almost childlike. We live in a world that over complicates things of little importance and over simplifies everything else. We’re just too scared to face what matters, you see. We’d rather devote our time to surviving and then to dying.
We assign meaning to everything- little, subconscious labels that sort us into lines and rows. What happened to the golden ratio? To the most beautiful, natural curve of all?
‘Hero’ doesn’t mean anything anymore. Maybe it did once. Maybe when it was just confined to the realms of fiction. Maybe when it was a ‘should’ and not an ‘is’. An ideal and not a reality.
Perhaps the problem lies not in the quest itself, not in the goal, but in the afterwards.
What do we do after we finish the story? After we attain, achieve?
There’s nothing left for us after the end. But we all run towards it anyway.
Principles? People who hold onto them are either privileged or suicidal. Killing is a means to an end and the end is three letters and three million consequences.