Chapter Text
Enji stared at the boy in a sort of mute astonishment.
Midoriya Izuku, seated in the most formal clothing a thirteen-year-old of lesser means could own, stared back. Between them, on Enji’s desk, was a file folder, and a modest box of yōkan from his favorite shop in Musutafu - a detail he knew was not public knowledge, or else Hawks would already be sending them by the truckload, so how had this one known?
No words were exchanged while Enji’s shock turned contemplative, and this was another thing that struck him as suspicious: he knew how fidgety children could be, he had three sons.
(Used to have, he corrected himself with a twinge of old pain.)
Yet Midoriya was patient, his gaze unwavering, his eyes clear; such self-discipline was… uncharacteristic of most people that age. Shouto didn’t have it, and neither had-
Had.
Enji clenched his jaw, willing away the memory brought up by Midoriya’s bright white hair, the serious look in his eyes. He couldn’t blame the boy, he reminded himself: there was no way Midoriya could have known just who he reminded Enji of, was there? The part of him that wanted to be angry anyway - to bellow, how dare you, and throw him out of his office and bar him from the premises - was carefully stifled under layers of patience and duty.
Patience, because Midoriya was being patient, and he would not be outdone by a child. Duty, because Midoriya had been dutiful, too: had filed this meeting request through the proper channels, more than a month in advance. Had greeted Enji formally, produced his offerings, and spoken, clearly and concisely, his baffling request.
Endeavor, sir, may I earn your recommendation to UA?
He fumbled, internally, for the right words to express himself now; something he often disguised with yelling, but this time, so thrown off his rhythm, did not bother to disguise at all. Enji reached for his tea, uncomfortably aware that it was the right kind of tea to go with the imo yōkan in the box that he had opened, so curiously, minutes earlier.
(Orange ribbon tied around the navy blue wagashi box: his theme colors.)
The silence stretched out until, at length, he spoke again. “Elaborate.”
Midoriya blinked, like he hadn’t expected that. Good. He shouldn’t. “As you know, I am quirkless,” he began. Enji did; it was on his ID, in needlessly emphasized text, and had been one of the few flags on his background check - uncommon though it was, sometimes criminals with emitter quirks used false identities with that detail on their registry. “Despite this, I aim to be a hero, and have been studying to enter UA’s heroics program for years. However, my… current school… seems to believe being quirkless means being both physically and intellectually disabled, and has been using that as an excuse to refuse to enroll me in any of the coursework or extracurriculars designed for hero training.” This he said through gritted teeth, the first real expression of emotion Enji had seen on the boy’s face.
“My attempts to join gyms and dojos have been denied the same way, for the same reasons, everywhere in Musutafu that I can afford, and with - no one at home to support me, either,” Midoriya paused, grimacing, embarrassed, fists clenched atop his thighs, and took a steadying breath, “any legal action that could be taken about this is inaccessible within the necessary timeframe.
“But that’s only context.” Midoriya sat up a little straighter. “Endeavor-san, you are the hero with the greatest number of interns who graduate into the industry, the highest case closure rate of any one agency in the country not operated directly by the Hero Commission, and one of the longest careers as a hero in Japan. You have an established reputation for being tough but fair, not only with the general public but also your own subordinates. There is no hero who values effort more than you do.”
Enji would ordinarily scoff at such flattery. Instead, he sipped tea, bit into a yōkan. Nodded at Midoriya to continue to whatever point he was getting at.
“Right now I don’t have anything to show for myself except my mind and my ambition,” Midoriya admitted, his gaze wavering like he was fighting the urge to look at the floor. “But I have time - and determination. If you will teach me, sir, I will learn.”
Hm. Enji considered Midoriya, again, over the lip of his teacup. “Let me get this straight,” he began. “You want me to teach you. To train you for the UA entrance exam - to recommend you. You came here,” his voice lowered to a growl, “with pretty words and a paltry bribe, and only the claim of your potential - to demand my personal investment into your growth as a hero. And you think that will convince me?”
Fear flickered across the boy’s face, there and gone again. Good; he would have been more concerned if it hadn’t. Midoriya was sweating - and so was Enji, because Hellflame had activated and was heating up the room - but he made no move to wipe the sweat from his brow. “No, sir,” Midoriya answered, firm. “I know better than to expect blind trust from anyone. Actions speak louder than words.” Green eyes flicked down at the file folder, pointedly: Enji had only glanced over it briefly, thinking it a status update from his sidekicks that they’d (unwisely) handed to the boy to bring in with him.
The taste of sweet potato and green tea was still lingering on Enji’s tongue, just enough to curb his temper in favor of curiosity as to what Midoriya meant. Damn manipulative brat, he thought, because he was opening the file, knowing Midoriya was watching with bright eyes, the way Touya would have, as if he’d somehow brought Enji’s lost son forward through time.
Touya, who had had the same steel-eyed determination. Who had tried so hard to win Enji’s approval even with the world stacked against him.
Who had wanted to do anything to become a hero.
-suspect sighted 22:19 Thursday at the warehouse in question, 10 minutes after Burnin’s patrol went through and reported all-clear, with no apparent means of egress; departed with unidentified package 22:23 westward toward the harbor-
-sea traffic within the two-hour window around the sighting via automated surveillance radar-
-sewer grate at the power station 2km north found to be networked with manholes within 0.5km of the warehouse. Exploration via a midpoint near Dagobah Beach found two side tunnels with signs of recent traversal [Photos C3-C8] and discrepancies in layout from sewer maps found in city records online [Diagram M-2]-
This was not a report from his agency.
Enji turned back to the first page and read through the file again, more carefully, examining the appendices full of drawings, photographs, charts and diagrams and - quirk analysis, of several suspects and suspected associates of the drug ring, which went into near-alarming levels of detail and could not have come from any analysts Endeavor Agency had ever worked with. “Midoriya,” he addressed the boy, tone and gaze sharp. “What is this?”
“New intel, sir,” he was answered, “for the drug trafficking case you’re working on in Musutafu.”
“Is this - did you gather this?”
“Yessir.”
Enji turned over Midoriya’s earlier words in his mind: nothing to show for himself except his mind and his ambition, huh - as he flipped back to the analysis pages at the end. “And this? You did this?”
“Is - is it not thorough enough, Endeavor-san, I have more with me-”
Enji very carefully kept the flames off the hand he was holding out. “Let me see.”
Midoriya’s stone-cold composure was cracking again at the slightest interest shown in his work; he was smiling, faintly, like he was trying not to, as he passed over a second file folder with faintly trembling hands. “It’s in the same order as the main file,” the boy blurted out, “a-and the sections are written at the top for reference-”
Enji held up a hand for silence, and Midoriya immediately complied with a stifled squeak.
The second file was as thick as the first - except it was all analysis. Not just of the individual suspects and collaborators, but also discussion of combat capabilities of likely combinations of combatants, and lists of the best matchups from within Endeavor Agency and its associate agencies from prior joint investigations, including several team-ups that a civilian like Midoriya shouldn’t have known about-
-just like he shouldn’t have known about the imo yōkan, just like he shouldn’t have known about this case-
“What is ‘N9-23’?” Enji asked, reading over a section analyzing a hypothetical battle between Burnin and the drug runner most recently spotted in the harbor, who Midoriya had asserted had a wind based speed enhancer, rather than the agency’s current hypothesis of a wind emitting quirk.
“Ah!” Midoriya’s cheeks pinked. “I must have left in the reference number by accident while editing - that’s the citation from a notebook page about Burnin. I wrote it back when she was a third year in the Sports Festival.”
That had been almost three years ago. “You’ve been analyzing heroes since you were ten?”
“Five, sir.” Midoriya looked up at him with bright, guileless eyes, reminding Enji even more of his lost son than before - like sunlight, faintly painful to witness directly. The boy averted his gaze first, back to the worn yellow backpack at his side, and the two identical notebooks that sat within.
Hero Analysis for the Future, Volume 12, read the cover Enji could see.
“Would… would you like to see more?”
“SHOUTO!”
Ugh. Todoroki Shouto stuck an arm out of the cozy blanket pile he was under, pausing the conspiracy HeroTube video on his laptop. It was much later than Father usually returned, on the days he did come back from the agency; he had been well into enjoying a day off, but it seemed he just wasn’t that lucky.
Keen ears listened for any hint of what had brought Endeavor home so late as Shouto made his way downstairs: the telltale crackle of ‘bad-mood’ Hellflame was absent. Even more curiously, rather than the open doorway of Endeavor’s home office, the sound of Father’s voice was coming from the kitchen - and it sounded as though he had brought a guest.
Shouto was suddenly very interested. Father never had guests.
“-is my youngest, the one closest to you in age-”
A clever bit of decorating from some years ago had placed a conveniently angled mirror in the hallway that allowed one to look into the kitchen before they went in. Shouto paused just outside the doorway to do this, discerning what he could from the reflection of the next room: what he saw raised his one remaining eyebrow.
Father did have a guest, and it was not a known hero, or hero’s kid, or one of the professionals on the bastard’s payroll - but a complete stranger, not much shorter than Shouto was, with a mess of bright white hair.
And said stranger was giving Endeavor his full attention, committing every word to memory, the way only the greenest of interns did. To borrow a phrase from Natsuo-nii (who had emphasized he was not to admit he got it from Natsuo-nii): what the hell?
“What the-” Shouto cut off his mutter before he finished that thought out loud. Knowing his luck, Endeavor would hear it and scold him for ‘swearing in front of guests’. (Again: ugh.) Quickly composing himself, he stepped into the kitchen. “You called for me, father?”
Endeavor eyed him coolly (ironic), but didn’t call Shouto out on the near-slip, so maybe he hadn’t heard it. “Yes. Come here, I need to do introductions.”
Shouto came closer. The white-haired boy turned to look at him; he had bright green eyes, which fixed unerringly on Shouto’s own for just a moment - before he nodded politely in greeting and looked back to Endeavor.
“Shouto, this is Midoriya Izuku; he will be residing here for the next two years, if all goes well. Midoriya, this is Shouto, your-”
“Half-brother?” Shouto interrupted, then covered his mouth; he had not meant to blurt that out. Shit.
“...training partner,” Endeavor finished, narrowing his eyes at Shouto. “Are you reading mystery novels again? You should be reading reference books, like Midoriya does.”
Midoriya pinked a little. He was much more expressive than Shouto was used to; perhaps he wasn’t a Todoroki after all. “I-I can share my collection, if you like?” he blinked and stammered. “Um - Shouto-senpai.”
“Do that,” Endeavor told him, “and curb the stammer. Filler words are worse than nothing at all.”
The tone, the delivery, made Shouto cringe a little in sympathy for his new ‘training partner’ (whatever that meant). He expected Midoriya to wilt under the criticism, as trainees did; and was thus surprised when the boy accepted Endeavor’s correction with a determined nod. “Yessir.”
Worse, Father actually looked pleased by that. “Good. This way, then, Midoriya, I will show you the gym, the training ground, and then your room.” He turned and left; Midoriya hefted an overstuffed yellow backpack onto his shoulders, and followed.
Shouto remained in the kitchen, listening to the increasingly-distant conversation between Father and the new occupant - something about a sewer system and a locked gate. Was that all Endeavor had needed him for?
He waited for a summons that didn’t happen, and shivered at the strange ill feeling welling up within him, for which he presently lacked a name.