Chapter Text
Classes let out into the gold of late afternoon, the sun slanting low over U.A.’s sprawling campus. Asami stepped out through the main gates with the other first-years, her bag a familiar weight over one shoulder, muscles still pleasantly sore from the day’s tests. Her phone buzzed in her blazer pocket and she fished it out as she walked, angling away from the stream of students toward the sidewalk that led back into town. A notification popped up across the screen.
Dad:
Saw the pics you sent this morning. Proud of you, kiddo.
When you get home, can we video chat? Mom’s making popcorn.
Asami smiled, the tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying leaking out of her shoulders. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard as she walked.
Yeah, of course. Just leaving now. It’s a bit of a walk though so—
“ASAMI!”
The shout nearly blew the phone out of her hand. She jumped, reflexively flaring Mirror Force for half a heartbeat before she caught herself. No impacts, just the sound of Hizashi arriving like a human siren. He dropped an arm across her shoulders from behind, leaning on her with absolutely no respect for personal space. “THERE you are!”
She twisted, startled. “Hizashi?!”
Oboro popped up on her other side, matching his pace easily, hands slotted behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Told you we’d catch her before she made a break for it.”
Shota trailed a few steps behind them, hands firmly entrenched in his pockets. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes flicked over the scene, lazy and alert all at once. Asami recovered enough to laugh. “I was just walking home.”
“Exactly,” Hizashi said, like that proved his point. “Home? ALONE? On your FIRST DAY at U.A.!?”
Oboro leaned in a little. “Tragic.”
Hizashi gasped dramatically. “UNACCEPTABLE! This situation needs… an upgrade.”
Asami clutched her phone to her chest before Hizashi’s flailing arms could knock it away. “An upgrade?”
“Arcade,” Oboro said, grinning. “There’s a great one like ten minutes from here. We’re going.”
Asami blinked. “We are?”
Hizashi pivoted so he was walking backward in front of her, hands spread. “C’mon, Asami. You survived your first day, almost fell off the school, impressed the hell out of Rampart—” he ignored her sputter— “this deserves CELEBRATION!”
Oboro jerked his chin toward the street. “They’ve got racing games, the evil crane games, air hockey, the works. First-years’ honorary initiation spot. You’ll like it.”
Shota finally caught up, stopping at her elbow. “You don’t have to go if you’re tired,” he said quietly. “They’re just being loud.”
“HEY!” Hizashi protested.
“It’s true,” Shota deadpanned.
Asami looked between them. Part of her wanted to say she should go straight home, make that call, start her new life here on the right, responsible foot. Another part, the one that had laughed on a cloud that afternoon, leaned toward the arcade with startling eagerness. Her phone buzzed again, her dad’s text sitting there patiently. She thumbed a quick reply.
Got invited out w/ classmates to an arcade (I know, right??)
Might be a couple hours later. I’ll call you when I get back 💛
The typing indicator popped up almost immediately, then disappeared. Knowing him, he was showing Mom the message and making exaggerated “ooooh” faces. She locked her phone and slid it away. “I can go for a little while,” she said. “As long as I’m home by eight.”
Hizashi pumped a fist in the air. “YEEEEAAAH! That’s what I’m talking about!”
Oboro slung an arm around her again, gentler this time and being mindful of her bag. “Excellent choice.”
Shota’s mouth twitched, just barely, before he looked away. “Guess we’re going to the arcade.”
The city pressed closer the farther they got from U.A.: shops, apartment blocks, the glow of convenience stores flicking on as the sun dropped. They cut through a side street Asami hadn’t taken before, Hizashi narrating like a tour guide at double speed. “—and that ramen place is incredible after training, I’m serious, we’re hitting that next time—and that laundromat over there? The owner’s hero-obsessed, he gives us discounts if we bring him gossip—oh, and—”
“As long as you don’t get us banned for noise complaints,” Shota muttered.
Hizashi pointed at him without looking back. “I can project perfectly reasonable volume levels.”
“You don’t know what ‘reasonable’ means,” Shota said.
Asami hid her smile in the collar of her blazer. They turned a corner, and the arcade announced itself before they even reached the door. The arcade was everything she’d secretly hoped a Japanese arcade would be and then some; narrow and tall, sign blazing in kanji and LEDs, noise pouring out the door in a riot. Inside, it was all flashing lights, chiptune music, and the overlapping sounds of button-mashing, rhythm clacks, and triumphant shouts. Oboro inhaled like he’d come home. “Ahh,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. “The sweet smell of victory and wasted allowance.”
“You mean wasted allowance trying for victory,” Shota muttered.
Hizashi clapped his hands once. “Okay! Who’s up for first blood in the eternal war of: ‘Which Game Is The Best Game’?” He pointed dramatically at a nearby fighting game cabinet, its screen flashing character select screens and fireballs. “Two-player, one coin, winner gets bragging rights for the rest of the week.”
Oboro’s eyes lit up. “You’re on.”
He tossed his bag behind the nearest bench and cracked his knuckles, sliding into position at one side of the cabinet. Hizashi took the other with all the seriousness of a pro athlete entering a championship. Asami hovered a step back, watching as they slammed coins into the slot and dove headfirst into digital combat. They were… ridiculous, but also kind of impressive.
“YOU CAN’T HANDLE MY COMBO GAME!” Hizashi yelled, thumb a blur on the buttons.
“YOU SPAM ONE MOVE!” Oboro shot back. “THIS ISN’T A RADIO SHOW, YOU CAN’T JUST YELL TILL YOU WIN!”
“Oh, but I CAN—NOOOO! NOT THE CORNER TRAP!”
Asami found herself laughing again, hand over her mouth. Their bickering faded into the general noise, but she could still see them from their spot: Oboro and Hizashi shoulder to shoulder, the screen flashing START in bright letters. She found herself relaxing again, the buzz in her chest smoothing into something warm.
“So,” Shota said, eyes tipped toward the others, “are arcades in America like this?”
“Some are,” Asami said, watching the boys on screen shoot their first wave of pixelated enemies. “A little bigger, sometimes? More… flashy? But the feeling’s the same.”
“Loud,” he said.
She smiled. “Loud.”
On screen, Hizashi’s character unleashed a special attack and Oboro’s life bar dropped to a sliver. “NO WAY!” Oboro howled. “HAX. I CALL HAX.”
“Skill!” Hizashi crowed. “Pure talent and skill!”
Asami shook her head, laughing under her breath. Shota’s eyes slid back to her. “You get dragged to a lot of places like this back home?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “My friends were more into malls. Or the beach. Or whatever new hero merch store opened that week.”
He made a low sound of empathy. “That sounds like Hizashi’s dream and my nightmare.”
She laughed. “Honestly? Sometimes it was fun. Sometimes it was… tiring. Always being the ‘hero’s kid,’ you know?”
He went still for a fraction of a second. “Because of your dad?”
“Yeah.” She toyed with the zipper on her bag. “People wanted to hang out to see if he’d show up or to ask about his fights. Or just to get autographs. Some of them were real friends. Some of them…” She shrugged one shoulder. “Not so much.”
“Must’ve been annoying,” he said, straightforward.
“It… got old,” she admitted, then she smiled sideways at him. “You’re lucky. No hero parents, right?”
“Mm.” He leaned back in his chair, gaze shifting to the scuffed tiles. “Just regular ones. Regular problems.” The way he said it; light, but with a weight underneath, made her decide not to push.
“Still,” she said. “It’s nice here. Being ‘Asami Kureha from 1-A’ instead of ‘Aegis Prime’s daughter.’”
“You say that now,” Shota said dryly. “Wait until the Sports Festival.”
She groaned. “Please don’t remind me. Mom and Dad are already planning on how to embarrass me from the stands.”
He smirked faintly, then sobered again, glancing at her. “You did well today.”
She blinked. “What?”
“In the tests,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious. “You held your own. And on the roof.”
Heat flickered at the back of her neck. “You mean when I almost turned into a pancake?”
“When you didn’t,” he corrected. “A lot of people freeze in free fall, but you didn’t. That orb was smart.”
“Oh.” She ducked her head. “Thanks.”
Outside of their conversation, the machine flashed a giant MISSION 2 banner. Hizashi whooped and Oboro shot him a look that said focus. A beat passed, filled with gunfire sound effects and 8-bit explosions.
“So,” Asami said, turning a little more toward Shota. “What about you?”
He frowned slightly. “What about me?”
“Your Quirk,” she said. “You never told me what it does. I just saw that it’s called… Erasure, right? On the roster?”
He stiffened just enough for her to notice, fingers knotting in his pocket. “Yeah.”
She waited quietly. He didn’t owe her an explanation, but she was genuinely curious. Maybe because she knew what it felt like to be defined by a Quirk before people knew you.
“Don’t get excited,” he muttered eventually. “It’s not flashy.”
“I like not flashy,” she said gently.
He hesitated, then let out a breath. “I can cancel other Quirks,” he said, eyes on the shooter game. “If I look at someone, their Quirk doesn't work as long as I keep my eyes open. It mostly works on physical stuff. Transformations, enhancements, that kind of thing. Doesn’t stop, like… fire that’s already been thrown or buildings that are already falling down. Or heteromorph-type Quirks.” As he talked, his voice took on a flat, almost clinical tone; the way someone did when they’d had to explain this too many times and braced for the usual reactions. “Side effect is that my eyes get dry as hell. If I blink, it drops. So, I need special eyedrops to carry around in order for me to keep using my eyes. Long-term, it’s gonna destroy them.” He shrugged, a jerky little motion. “So... not exactly crowd-pleasing.”
Asami stared at him incredulously. “That’s…” She shook her head, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. “That’s incredible, Shota.”
He blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Incredible?” he repeated like it was a word he didn’t quite recognize.
“Of course,” she said, leaning forward a little. “You can shut down other Quirks. That’s - that’s huge. Heroes like All Might or Endeavor or whoever, they can smash and blast, but they still have to deal with whatever the villain’s power is doing.” Her hands moved as she visualized it. “You can just… take that off the table.”
He looked away, ears faintly pink. “It’s not that simple.”
“Maybe not yet,” she said. “You’re still learning. But think about it. A villain who’s only dangerous because of their Quirk? You look at them, and suddenly they’re just… a person. No extra tricks. In a team, that’s invaluable.”
He shifted in his seat, trying (and failing) to hide the way his shoulders straightened a little. “Most people just say it sounds scary... or lame,” he muttered.
She snorted. “Most people don’t think in straight lines.”
He eyed her sidelong, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “…Straight lines?”
“It’s a math thing,” she said. “Some people see a problem and only think about the obvious stuff: the big numbers, the flashy variables. But the smartest solutions usually come from the things in the background. The stuff that changes the equation without shouting about it.”
“Let me guess,” he said. “You liked math.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Hated it. Loved physics, though.”
“Of course you did,” he said, deadpan.
She laughed. “Point is: I think your Quirk is really cool. And really important.” She met his eyes, steady. “If I were going into a fight, I’d want you there.”
The noise of the arcade faded a little around them. Shota looked away quickly, but not before she caught the flicker of surprise (and something softer) on his face. His fingers unclenched inside his pockets. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
“VICTORY!” Oboro suddenly whooped, punching the air.
Hizashi threw his head back in melodramatic agony. “NOOOO! My perfect record! My beautiful stats!”
“You don’t have stats,” Shota said.
“I HAVE EMOTIONAL STATS!” Hizashi wailed.
Asami giggled and out of the corner of his eye, Shota watched her. He watched the way she tilted her head when she laughed, the way the flashing lights from the cabinet caught in her blonde hair. He’d thought she was interesting from the moment she’d walked into the classroom that morning, awkward, guarded and clearly competent. But now... now he was seeing something else, too. She was kind, and she wasn’t scared or condescending of him or of his Quirk. She looked at him the same way she looked at Hizashi and Oboro, like he was just… part of the group. It made something warm and unfamiliar bloom in his chest, and he looked away before she could catch him staring.
“Hey!” Oboro called, spinning around to lean against the cabinet. “You two wallflowers done judging our world-famous plays? We should rotate. Fair’s fair.”
“And by ‘rotate,’ he means he’s scared I’ll beat him again if we rematch,” Hizashi said, recovering with a flip of his hair.
“You wish,” Oboro shot back. He strolled over, shoving his hands in his pockets. Hizashi flopped down on Asami’s other side, still loudly mourning his loss. “You having fun?” Oboro asked Asami, tilting his head.
“Yeah,” she said honestly. “It’s… nice. I haven’t done something like this in a while.”
“You mean you didn’t immediately go arcade-hopping after long days at your ultra-fancy American training gyms?” Hizashi said, scandalized. “What do they even do over there?”
“Paperwork,” she deadpanned.
Oboro made a face. “Lame.”
They drifted after that, playing a two-versus-two fighting game (Hizashi button-mashed, Oboro tried to play seriously, Asami laughed so hard she lost track of her health bar, Shota quietly wiped the floor with all of them when he finally took a turn), tossed a few doomed coins into the cursed crane machine, and split a paper basket of takoyaki that Hizashi claimed was “vital pre-study brain food.” Time blurred and eventually Shota checked the wall clock, nudging Asami lightly with his elbow. “What time did you say you had to be home?”
She followed his gaze and blinked. “Oh. Uh... soon. I should go.”
A little pang went through Oboro at that, but he squashed it down with a crooked grin. “We’ll walk you back partway. Can’t let you get lost on day one.”
“I’m not—” she started, then smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”
They spilled back out into the cooler night air, the sounds of the arcade fading behind them. The streets had shifted from after-school bustle to evening crowds; adults heading home, lights glowing in apartment windows. They walked in a loose clump: Hizashi half a step ahead, narrating his greatest gaming injustices; Oboro and Asami side by side; Shota a little behind, hands in his pockets as he watched the shadows. Asami thumbed her phone, pulling up her map app to double-check the route from here to her small apartment. It wasn’t far; two more turns, a straight shot past the station...
“Hey, Asami,” Oboro said suddenly.
“Mm?” She looked up.
“You, uh… you got a phone, obviously.” He scratched his cheek, suddenly awkward. “If you ever wanna… I dunno. Study. Or blow off studying. Or complain about Hizashi. We could text.”
She blinked, then smiled, a little startled at how warm the suggestion made her feel. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Hizashi whirled around, walking backward again. “GROUP CHAT,” he declared. “We need a Class 1-A Founding Four group chat. It’s VITAL.”
“That’s a terrible name,” Shota said.
“We can workshop it,” Hizashi allowed.
Asami pulled up a new contact, holding her phone out. “Give me your numbers, then.”
Oboro’s heart did that weird jump again. “Y-yeah,” he said, fishing his phone out with fingers that felt clumsier than they should. He rattled off his digits; she typed them in and saved them under “Oboro Shirakumo ☁️” before she could talk herself out of the emoji.
Hizashi practically shoved his phone into her hands. “And mine! You’re gonna want that, trust me. Late-night study hype, early morning WAKE-UP CALLS—”
“Don’t let him call you early in the morning,” Shota advised. “Block that part.”
Hizashi clutched his chest. “BETRAYAL!”
Asami laughed and added his number anyway, “Hizashi Yamada 🔊.” She glanced back at Shota. “You too?”
He hesitated for half a step, then he sighed and pulled his phone out. “…Fine.”
She waited patiently as he recited his number, quieter than the others. She added it, paused for a second over what to put after his name, then typed “Shota Aizawa 💤” with a tiny smile. He glanced sideways at her screen and huffed. “Really?”
“It’s accurate,” she said.
“Whatever,” he muttered, but there was a faint pink dusting the tips of his ears. Her phone buzzed almost immediately with two new messages.
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
FIRST TEXT. I CLAIM THIS HONOR.
Oboro Shirakumo ☁️:
Second text. I claim being cooler about it.
A beat later.
Shota Aizawa 💤:
Don’t blow up her phone on the first night.
Asami laughed out loud. “Too late.”
She slipped the phone back into her pocket, warmth settling in her chest that had nothing to do with the lingering heat of the day. They turned the last corner near her building, the streets quieter here, lined with narrow apartments and small shops starting to close. “That’s me,” she said, nodding toward a modest three-story and the narrow door that led up to her unit.
Oboro took in the building, the street, mentally bookmarking it without even thinking about it. “Got it,” he said.
Hizashi spread his arms in a grand gesture. “WELL! Miss Kureha, on behalf of Class 1-A’s coolest subsection, thank you for joining us for your post-U.A. initiation!”
“I had fun,” she said honestly. “Thank you. All of you.”
“Get home safe,” Shota said softly.
She nodded. “You too. Don’t… stay out too late. Or Rampart will know... somehow.”
Hizashi shivered. “He does give off ‘I can sense misbehavior’ energy, huh?”
“That’s called ‘being a teacher and having you as his student',” Shota said.
Asami hesitated, then dipped her head in a small, awkward bow. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Oboro echoed.
She turned and climbed the short set of steps to the door, digging her keys out. At the top, she glanced back. The three boys were still there, framed by the streetlight; Hizashi waving both arms like they hadn’t just seen each other for hours, Oboro with his hands in his pockets and that easy grin back on his face, Shota watching quietly from under his black bangs. For the first time since stepping off the plane, Asami didn’t feel entirely like a stranger. She smiled, lifted a hand in a small wave, and slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
Outside, Hizashi blew out a long breath. “MAN. Today was wild.”
“Yeah,” Oboro said softly, eyes still on the door.
Shota glanced at him, something knowing in his gaze. “…You good?”
Oboro blinked and shook himself, the momentary softness folding back into his usual energy. “Me? I’m great. First day at U.A., didn’t get expelled, made new friends? I’m thriving.”
Hizashi slung an arm around both of them, pulling them into a lopsided three-way headlock. “And this is just the BEGINNING, boys! 1-A’s gonna CRUSH IT this year!”
Shota grunted as Hizashi’s elbow dug into his shoulder. “If we survive your volume.”
Oboro laughed, letting himself be dragged along.
Upstairs, in a small apartment that still smelled faintly like new paint and cardboard boxes, Asami set her bag down, fished out her phone, and saw a new message.
Dad:
Arcade with classmates on day one? Look at you, social butterfly 🦋
Call us when you’re ready. We’ll be up.
She smiled, thumb hovering over the video call icon. For a heartbeat, she saw the day flash behind her eyes; U.A.’s towering gates, the rooftop fall, Rampart’s unimpressed stare, Hizashi’s ridiculous commentary, Oboro’s hand in hers on that cloud, Shota’s quiet, surprised expression when she called his Quirk “cool.” Her life in Japan, in this new city, didn’t feel quite so huge and empty anymore.
“Yeah,” she murmured to herself, hitting call as the screen filled with her parents’ familiar faces. “I think it’s gonna be okay.”
Daniel’s face filled the screen first, his broad shoulders framed by the worn leather of the armchair in their living room, short black hair mussed, that familiar black goatee lightly dusted with grey. “Asami,” he said, and even through the lag she could hear the relief.
“Hey, Dad.” She couldn’t stop the grin.
The camera jostled and Sarah squeezed into frame, practically climbing into his lap to get closer. Her red hair was up in a messy bun and she already had a bowl of popcorn in hand. “There she is!” she crowed, her Bostonian accent thick through the speaker. “My baby, all the way in freakin’ Japan, look at you in your lil’ blazer—”
“Mom,” Asami groaned, already laughing. “We talked this morning.”
“And I’m still not over it,” Sarah said, pointing a kernel at the screen. “Lemme see you, move back a little. Danny, tilt the phone, you’re hoggin’ the kid.”
Daniel dutifully angled the camera as Asami leaned back on her futon and propped the phone against a stack of textbooks. Her small apartment appeared in the background, still half-unpacked, one wall bare except for the U.A. leaflet tacked above her desk. “That’s better,” Sarah said, satisfied. “All right. First day. Tell us everything. How’s the school? How’s your homeroom teacher? Any weirdo kids? Do I gotta fly out there and yell at anybody?”
“Let her breathe,” Daniel said, amused. “How was it, kiddo?”
“It was… a lot. But in a good way.” She launched into it: the size of the campus, the orientation, Rampart’s first test. She described the training grounds, the cafeteria and Lunch Rush, the rooftop view. She skimmed over the lonely bits and leaned into the parts that had felt good. “And I made some friends,” she added.
Sarah’s green eyes lit up. “Oh yeah?”
“Three boys from my class,” Asami said. “Hizashi Yamada, Oboro Shirakumo, and Shota Aizawa. We had lunch together. They kind of… dragged me out of my shell.”
“You had lunch with people?” Sarah slapped Daniel’s arm. “You hear that, Dan? Day one and she’s already got a crew.”
“I heard,” he said, smiling. “That’s great, sweetie.”
Asami’s phone buzzed in her hand and a notification peeked down from the top of the screen: Hizashi Yamada 🔊 created “1-A Dumbigos (beta name)”
The messages started rolling in immediately, overlapping the call UI.
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
YO LISTENERS, WELCOME TO THE OFFICIAL 1-A DUMBIGOS GROUP CHAT!! 🎤🎉
Oboro Shirakumo ☁️:
That name is slander.
Shota Aizawa 💤:
No.
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
ok ok ok WORKSHOP NAME STAGE
hit me with ur best shots
Asami bit her lip, trying not to smile too obviously. Sarah squinted. “Was that a text?”
“Group chat,” Asami said. “Those guys I just mentioned. We swapped numbers on the way home.”
“Oho,” Sarah said. “Look at you, miss popular.”
Daniel’s smile softened further. “You said you had training out on the grounds. No problems with your Quirk?”
“Not really,” Asami said. “Mirror Force held up, stamina was okay. Rampart barely shouted at me. That’s like a compliment, I think.” Her phone buzzed again.
Oboro Shirakumo ☁️:
Kureha, weigh in before Yamada names us something worse
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
IMPOSSIBLE THERE IS NOTHING BETTER THAN DUMBIGOS
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
also ASAMI CONFIRM U DID NOT DIE ON THE WAY HOME
Shota Aizawa 💤:
She’s clearly alive, you just saw her go into her building.
Another notification slid in, this time from a different thread: New message from Shota Aizawa 💤
Her stomach did a small, inexplicable flip.
“Everything okay?” Daniel asked, catching the flicker of her gaze.
“Yeah,” Asami said. “Just… a lot of messages. I’ll answer them later.”
Sarah smirked. “Or you could multitask. I seen you text through an entire dinner before.”
“That was you and Dad arguing about the best pizza place in Boston,” Asami pointed out.
“Because I was RIGHT,” Sarah said. “Anyway, tell us more."
“Okay, so,” she said, fiddling with the hem of her blazer. “There was one small thing…”
Daniel’s posture shifted a fraction. “What kind of ‘small’?” Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Asami…”
She winced. “Don’t freak out, okay?”
“Great opener,” Sarah said flatly.
Asami took a breath. “At lunch, Oboro - you remember I said his Quirk is ‘Cloud’? He can ride on them and he wanted to show me, so he took me on one. It was just above the roof, and it was fine but then he lost focus for a second and I kinda… fell?”
Silence.
Daniel’s face went neutral in that very specific way he had when he was processing bad intel. Sarah’s eyes went huge. “You KINDA WHAT?”
“It sounds worse than it was,” Asami rushed on. “I was fine! I made a barrier... like a full Mirror Force orb. Rampart caught it with his own and set me back on the roof. I wasn’t even bruised, Mom, I swear.”
“You fell off a cloud off the side of a building,” Sarah said, voice going high and thin. “Asami Ellis—”
“Kureha,” Daniel corrected automatically, then winced. “Sorry, habit.”
“—I do not care what last name she’s usin’, she FELL OFF A BUILDING!” Sarah slapped his arm again. “Your father is supposed to be the dramatic one, not you!”
“I just told you I caught myself,” Asami protested. “That’s good, right? All those training drills paid off. Dad, back me up?”
Daniel’s jaw worked for a second. “How far did you fall?” he asked, calm but too precise.
“From the roof to the lawn,” Asami said. “Two stories? Maybe three. I didn’t hit at full speed, the orb took it. Rampart said I showed ‘good control under pressure’.” She mimicked his unimpressed tone. It was a risk, quoting a teacher her parents didn’t know, but she saw the words land; Daniel cataloguing the assessment, filing it next to all the reports he’d read before letting her come here.
“And this Oboro,” he said. “How did he take it?”
“He felt awful,” Asami said at once. “He apologized, like, ten times. He wasn’t being reckless on purpose. He just… looked away at the wrong time.”
Sarah threw her free hand in the air. “That’s the definition of reckless!”
“Moooom,” Asami groaned. Her phone vibrated again.
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
ok new name pitch: 1-A ROOFTOP RESISTANCE
Oboro Shirakumo ☁️:
We got caught once, Yamada. Once.
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
legendary behavior starts with “once”
Shota Aizawa 💤:
Please stop giving Kuriyama ideas for punishments.
Asami’s lips twitched, Daniel saw it. “You can answer them if you need to.”
She shook her head. “They can wait.”
Sarah was still ranting. “—if I wanted my kid plummeting through the air I’d have signed her up for BASE jumping, not a hero course—”
She snuck a quick glance at her phone where Shota’s private thread sat just below the group chat. She tapped it open for half a second.
Shota Aizawa 💤:
Hey.
Just checking you got in okay.
A second bubble, sent a few minutes later:
Shota Aizawa 💤:
Also thanks.
For what you said about my Quirk.
Asami’s chest tightened in a not-unpleasant way.
She thumbed a quick reply.
Made it inside in one piece 😊
And you’re welcome. I meant it.
She hesitated, then added:
You can text me if you ever wanna complain about Yamada’s volume. I’ll back you up.
Three dots appeared almost immediately, then vanished. Appeared, then vanished again.
“Sarah,” Daniel finally said, gently. She finally stopped and looked at him, breathing hard. He leaned closer to the camera, brown eyes steady on Asami’s. “Kiddo, I’m not thrilled that you were in that situation, but I am proud that you handled it. You kept your head, you used your Quirk the way we trained, and you walked away.” Asami exhaled, a little of the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding easing. Sarah bit her lip, torn between fury and maternal pride.
“And,” Daniel added, “I will need your teacher’s contact information so I can send him a strongly worded thank-you for not letting you splatter.”
“Not helpful,” Sarah muttered, but her shoulders dropped a notch.
“I’ll send it,” Asami said. “Later.”
Sarah leaned closer to the screen again. “And this cloud boy—”
“Oboro,” Asami said, cheeks warming for reasons she refused to examine too closely.
“—this Oboro Shirakumo,” Sarah went on, “he ever takes his eyes off you when you’re off the ground again, I’m gonna fly over there and personally staple his shoes to the roof.”
“Mom,” Asami said, halfway between horrified and wheezing.
Daniel tried not to smile and failed. “Pretty sure that’s illegal, honey.”
“So’s reckless endangerment,” Sarah shot back.
Asami rubbed her forehead. “He really is a good guy. They all are. Hizashi’s… loud, but in a fun way. Shota’s really smart, and his Quirk is amazing. They looked out for me. Promise.”
“Oh, we’re talkin’ about the other two now,” Sarah said, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “All right. Gimme the rundown. Hizashi and Shota. Who’s the bad influence and who do I gotta send home-baked cookies to?”
Asami laughed, the question easing some of the leftover adrenaline. “Hizashi is… definitely the bad influence,” she said. “But he’s sweet. And Shota…” She hesitated, thinking of his serious eyes, the way his expression had softened when she talked about his Erasure Quirk... the private text popping up a second ago, waiting unread. “Shota’s the one who watches out for everyone,” she finished. “Even if he pretends he’s annoyed about it.”
Sarah’s expression warmed, just for a moment. “Sounds like you found yourself a good little squad.”
“Yeah,” Asami said softly. “I think so.” Her phone buzzed again.
Shota Aizawa 💤:
That sounds dangerous.
But thanks.
I might take you up on it.
She smiled, warmth creeping up behind her ribs.
“You can still call us anytime,” Daniel said. “If it gets to be too much. If you need an ear. Or a shield.”
“Or bail money,” Sarah added.
Daniel shot her a look. “She does not need bail money.”
“Not yet,” Sarah said. “But if she does, I wanna be the first to know.”
Asami laughed, the sound easing the last of the tightness in her chest. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She shifted, glancing at the clock on her wall. “I should probably let you guys go soon. It’s late there.”
“We’re fine,” Sarah protested. “We can stay up. I got coffee.”
“You had coffee at five,” Daniel said. “You’re going to regret that.”
“That’s future Sarah’s problem,” she said, waving her hand dismissively at him.
“Mom,” Asami said gently. “We can talk again tomorrow. Or this weekend. I promise.”
Sarah made a face. “Ugh. Fine. Be all grown up and responsible or whatever. I hate it.”
Daniel leaned closer to the camera. “We’re proud of you, kiddo. Really.”
“Yeah,” Sarah said, and for a second the joking dropped away completely, leaving just fierce, unabashed love. “You fall off a roof, you make friends, you use your head, you call us. That’s… that’s all we can ask.”
Asami’s throat tightened, her nose tingling with the beginning of homesick tears. “I love you guys.”
“Love you more,” Daniel said.
“Love you most!” Sarah shot back.
“Mom, that’s cheating.”
“Life’s a competition, I’m winning, you’ll live.”
They bickered affectionately for another minute, then finally, reluctantly, let her go. Sarah made her promise again to text when she woke up; Daniel made her promise to stretch before bed so she didn’t seize up in the morning. When the call finally ended, the apartment felt quieter but not empty. She exhaled loudly, letting herself flop back onto her futon, phone held above her face. The group chat had exploded in the time she’d been focused on her parents.
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
ok FINAL NAME PITCH
“1-A: ROOFTOP RASCALS”
Oboro Shirakumo ☁️:
Too long.
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
“LOUD CLOUD & CO.”
Oboro Shirakumo ☁️:
Tempting.
Shota Aizawa 💤:
Absolutely not.
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
“WE DIDN’T MEAN TO FALL”
Oboro Shirakumo ☁️:
Okay that one’s funny
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
Kureha weigh in any time now, you’re missing GREATNESS
Asami snorted and typed with her thumbs.
Was on a call, sorry 😅
What about something simple like “1-A Rooftop Crew”?
A beat.
Oboro Shirakumo ☁️:
I like it.
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
…that’s actually good
Shota Aizawa 💤:
It’s fine.
Hizashi Yamada 🔊 renamed the chat to “1-A Rooftop Crew”
Hizashi Yamada 🔊:
DEMOCRACY IN ACTION
Oboro sent a sticker of a little cloud giving a thumbs-up and her private chat with Shota pinged again.
Shota Aizawa 💤:
Rooftop Crew, huh.
Fitting.
Asami:
Better than Dumbigos 👀
She hesitated, then added:
Asami:
Thanks for checking on me, by the way. Again.
A longer pause this time. Then:
Shota Aizawa 💤:
You’re welcome.
…good night, Asami.
The way he wrote her name made something twist pleasantly in her chest.
Asami:
Good night, Shota. See you tomorrow.
She set the phone down beside her pillow, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. Across an ocean, her parents were probably still sitting on that couch, talking about her. Across town, three first-year boys were probably headed home, or already in their own tiny rooms, phones lighting up their faces. For the first time since she’d arrived in Japan, the space between those worlds didn’t feel like a gap she was going to fall through. It felt more like a net now.
Asami closed her eyes, exhaustion finally catching up with her, and drifted off to sleep to the faint, comforting buzz of a group chat that was just getting started.