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It was a small cemetery, densely packed with tombstones. The beaten dirt path winding between them was unchanged, though sections of it branch off in brand new directions everytime Toshinori visited.
Trees popped up at regular intervals along the path, fighting against the nearby tombstones for space, and scattering patches of shade amongst the otherwise hot sun.
Toshinori stepped through the gates exactly once a year, the day of Nana Shimura’s birthday.
It was a decades old tradition, one he had upheld faithfully, without fail.
The frequency of his visits had been more irregular the first few years after her death, what with attending the shijūkunichi two months after the funeral, and sporadic visits driven by still fresh grief.
He remembered staring out the window on the long train ride there, watching the scenery change from tall, shiny buildings to the occasional wooden house and vibrant green fields, the train emptying gradually as they got farther and farther away from Musutafu.
Nana was born, raised and buried in the same small town.
It wasn’t the closest to Musutafu, so visiting his mentor was a trip that often ate away at an entire day, a journey Toshinori undertook many times as a young teen.
It had been Gran Torino to finally put a stop to his almost obsessive visits, firmly telling him to stop drowning himself in sorrow like this.
It had stung in the moment, though now older and wiser, Toshinori recognized that the man had been worried about him.
He'd taken Gran Torino’s advice, and with time, the frequency of his visits had evened out to being just once a year.
The routine he followed was the same from the second he stepped out of the house to the moment he got back.
Take the train as far as he could. If there was a bus that could be taken further to the small town of Nibuse, he'd hop onto that. If not, he'd walk. It wasn’t a short trek, though Toshinori had never minded it.
The surrounding nature and brisk pace he would set himself helped clear his mind and put his thoughts to rest.
He’d go to the cemetery.
Hope the flowers he’d brought hadn’t been crushed during the trip, and pay his respects.
Stop at the small town restaurant and then make his way back home again.
Ever since it had become a routine, he’d only broken it twice.
The first time was when he nearly missed it, arriving two weeks after Nana’s birthday instead of the day of, having spent the previous days fighting for his life in a hospital bed after what he had thought had been the final fight against All for One.
The second was an extra visit, dropping in before a year had elapsed since the previous visit, upon the relationship between young Tomura Shigaraki and Nana coming to light.
Nana Shimura’s grave sat in the bottom left corner of the cemetery. She had been buried in a family plot, though there was no family left to visit her, not in the town, nor anywhere else.
Toshinori would bring the same chrysanthemums, switching the color every year.
He hadn't known what flowers Nana liked, and upon asking Gran Torino, he hadn’t known either.
Their conversations, before she’d passed, had never revolved around mundane things such as flowers.
Toshinori was familiar with the particular way Nana fought, light on her feet even without using her quirk, like she was dancing. He still knew the safety plan she’d organized for him in case All for One came for him and there was no one to help by heart, and the scowl she'd get on her face when feeling threatened.
He didn't know what flowers she liked, how she took her coffee, what she liked to do in her free time.
It was only after her death that he had stood in front of her ashes and realized just how little he knew about his mentor.
In the end, he had gone to Gran Torino, worked up the courage to ask for stories of his late mentor, her habits, anecdotes of her youth.
It was this very fact that had shaped many of his interactions with young Midoriya. Toshinori loved the boy he had come to consider as his son. He'd made an effort to get to know him, to learn all the random facts about his life, his interests and dislikes, the important insignificance of them that comes with caring about someone.
They discussed Midoriya's favourite shows, mostly hero related, would debate their respective tastes in music while blasting music during car rides. Midoriya would always pretend to like Toshinori’s songs, much to his amusement.
Toshinori knew that he and Midoriya had both played piano as kids, but it had been quite a while since either of them had since laid hands on the instrument.
He knew Midoriya’s favourite food was katsudon, but that he would take a meal cooked by his mom over a store bought katsudon any day (Toshinori had tried Midoriya Inko’s cooking, and her son's praises were well deserved).
In the months they’d trained before the UA entrance exam, when training sessions got long, Midoriya had on multiple occasions offered Toshinori small snacks, and had admitted only later that the research he’d done on life without a stomach had indicated it was best to eat small portions of food frequently, rather than a few big meals. He'd been concerned their trainings would disrupt Toshinori's eating habits and ruin his already deteriorating health.
Even now, Toshinori could see the way his eyebrows furrowed in worry when he coughed up blood, always pulling out a tissue in case he needed one.
They were comfortable with each other, like family.
It had been no fault of Nana’s that their relationship hadn’t been like that, though Toshinori wished it had been. All for One had been much more powerful at the time than he was now, and his interactions with his mentor had been more limited to the essentials needed for surviving with the target on his back his quirk gave him.
She had done her best with the time and resources she had.
Midoriya was a curious boy, always coming up with insightful questions of the wildest of topics.
After Toshinori had told him the truth about One for All and All for One’s complicated intertwined history, he'd occasionally receive a text message from him, asking him about one or the other vestiges, or some bit of history related to them.
Toshinori told him what little he knew of the first to sixth users, and in greater detail about Nana.
They were out for a walk one day, the two of them, when they somehow fell into a discussion about Nana Shimura again.
It was a month to her birthday, and the customary visit to pay respects was coming up.
Once Midoriya’s curiosity had been sated, Toshinori posed the question that he had been mulling over since the beginning of the conversation.
“It’s her birthday in about a month. I’m going to her hometown to visit her grave. Would you like to come too?”
Midoriya's steps faltered, and for a second Toshinori thought he'd said the wrong thing.
“Would you be okay with that?” Midoriya asked. His eyes were wide and earnest. “I mean, I would love to. She’s a hero I always admired even before finding out she was your mentor, and you’ve told me so much about her. But I don’t want to intrude if this is something personal you want to do alone,”
Everytime Toshinori thought he couldn’t care more about this boy, he would prove him wrong.
“Young Midoriya,” he said solemnly, “It’s not a bother at all, and I would love it if you came.”
The trip there was a little strange, with Midoriya, though not in a bad way. Toshinori had always gone alone, he’d only ever gone with Gran Torino once or twice.
Neither of them said much on the way there, lost in thought, occasionally commenting on their surroundings.
They took the bus to Nibuse, Midoriya quietly taking everything in, and made their way to the graveyard.
Toshinori caught sight of the restaurant he’d always stop at on their way to it, the door barred shut and a sign tacked to the front.
It baffled him enough that he stopped for a second, caught off guard, staring at the sign.
Young Midoriya peered curiously at it, then at him. “Is something the matter?”
An odd sense of relief filled Toshinori as he read the words on the notice, stating the place was temporarily closed for renovation. The owner had been old, and Toshinori recalled an old conversation they’d had years ago about him retiring and passing the business down to his daughter.
Toshinori shook his head, forcing himself to move on. “It’s nothing. I just- that place is a restaurant I always used to go to whenever I came here. I thought it had closed, and that threw me off,”
He looked around, searching to see if there was anywhere else they could stop to grab a bite later. “Their kuro hanpen was really good,” he added wistfully.
“I guess I’ll get to try it next year, instead.” Midoriya said brightly.
Toshinori lay a hand on his shoulder and they moved along.
Toshinori had spent so many years desperately trying to keep Nana’s memory alive, painfully aware that he, along with Gran Torino, were probably the last people left able to do so.
There was one more person to remember her now, Toshinori thought as they carefully refilled the water and laid down their flowers, side by side.
They were white this year, with hints of blue in the center.
He caught Midoriya’s eye, and the boy smiled at him.
This is my successor, Toshinori thought silently to himself. I’m so proud of him. I think you would’ve liked him too, Nana.
Unbeknownst to them, One for All stirred slightly. A blurry memory, a wave of affection, a trace of one of the many people enclosed within its depths. A sentence breathed out, gone unnoticed.
I love you, Toshinori.
And I would have loved to meet him.