Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own MHA nor am I earning money from writing this. As a rule of thumb, if you recognize something in this fic, I probably do not own it.
“I might be going insane” – Normal speech
‘It isn’t normal to have voices in your head’ – Thoughts, Writing
True – The voices in your head
Chapter 2
Izuku was broken from his trance-like state of drawing by the sound of the door opening, signaling the arrival of dinner. As he set his pen down, he became aware of the absolute mess that surrounded him. There was a solid ring of paper at the limits of his reach, each sheet adorned with whatever happened to be on Izuku’s mind at the time. There was no rhyme or reason, no organization, only a ring of chaos.
On the bed behind him lay the ream of paper, a little more than a third empty at this point. Across the room from him lay the two pens that he had tossed away as they ran out of ink. After the first one ran out, Izuku absentmindedly used his quirk to determine how many drawings were left until the next pen ran out, and sure enough the pen had run out then.
Izuku had developed hand cramps throughout the afternoon, as anyone would if they were drawing for multiple hours straight. After the second break, Izuku forewent the use of his right hand and decided to try drawing with his left hand. The difference was immediately apparent, but a few questions about the position of his hand and he kept drawing, practicing the unfamiliar motions.
Sadly, Izuku was not succeeding in his efforts to become ambidextrous. Izuku, however, did not care. All it took was a couple of statements and the knowledge that the alternative was to sit in boredom until his right hand felt better.
‘I can draw with my left hand as well as I can with my right hand.’ False.
‘I can get better at drawing with my left hand.’ True.
‘I will be able to draw equally well with both hands.’ True.
And emboldened by the response, he kept at it. There was no doubt that he was improving, but he was still far from his immediate goal. Because of his workaround eliminating the need for breaks, Izuku had spent a solid six hours drawing with minimal breaks to ask his quirk some questions.
All of this led to the scene that Kano Ryota saw as he gently opened the door, not wanting to cause a mess like his last visit. Izuku looked up from the mess surrounding him, embarrassed. As he walked over to the bed, plate of food in hand, Izuku pushed the ring of art to one side before he stood up to greet the man.
“Hello mister… I don’t know your name.” At this realization, Izuku looked down, further embarrassed. The orderly was also feeling embarrassed. He had to have introduced himself at some point, right? Thinking back on the events of the last two days, he realized that he had never told Izuku his name. He quickly made to correct this error.
“No need to worry, Midoriya-san. I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself yet, which was a lapse on my part. My name is Kano Ryota, pleased to meet you… again.”
At this, Izuku perked up. “Hello Kano-san! Thanks for bringing me dinner again. I’m sure it’ll be just as good as it was last time! And also,” Izuku paused, scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry about the mess. I didn’t really notice it was there until you came, and…”
Here he trailed off and Ryota picked up the conversation. “No need to worry Midoriya-san, it is your room after all. Compared to some of the other patients, your room is surprisingly orderly and clean. I’d love to talk, but I still have to get to the rest of the people her with their dinners, you know how it is. I’ll see you later!”
As Izuku worked his way through his dinner, his mind began to wander. He thought about his mom, wondering how she was doing. He knew that his mom would likely be waiting for every bit of news about him, and that she was probably in the hospital right now. He wondered about his friends – had they noticed that he was missing? Today was Sunday, so nobody but Kacchan likely knew that he was missing.
False.
The interruption of his quirk startled him and made him feel like an idiot. What use was speculation when he could confirm everything he wanted to know? There was something bothering him about the sudden interruption, though. Izuku wrote the question he was thinking of down on a fresh sheet of paper and set it to the side.
‘Mom is waiting in the hospital right now.’ True.
‘Kacchan misses me.’ True.
‘My classmates know that I’m in the hospital.’ True.
At this, Izuku paused. The set of classmates included Kacchan, so the questions were asking the same thing. Izuku tried to find a statement that accurately portrayed his wishes. Eventually he arrived at ‘Excluding Kacchan, my classmates know that I’m away.’ False.
Izuku sighed. ‘Somebody that I haven’t already asked about knows that I’m away.’ True.
The problem with this question, Izuku came to realize, was that it was too vague. He had spent nearly fifteen minutes afterwards trying individual people before giving up. The list of people that knew he was missing, as far as he knew, included the doctors, his teachers, and Aunty Mitsuki. The problem was that there were still people that knew he was away, and he had no idea how to find out who they were.
This wasn’t a problem per se, but the implication that his quirk could find something out for him but was limited by his ability to ask the right questions was irritating.
Here, for the first time since Izuku arrived at the hospital, he gave up on trying to find something out. Coincidentally, it was at this point that the orderly returned to collect Izuku’s empty dishes. As the door opened, Izuku remembered the piece of paper that he had written a question on earlier. The question written was ‘Why does my quirk only sometimes respond when I’m thinking?’ This question wasn’t something that he could let the doctor see, because his quirk had been very clear that it was not a good idea to let people other than his mom know that he had a quirk.
These thoughts ran through Izuku’s head in the short time between the sound of the door unlocking and the handle beginning to turn. Quickly, Izuku mixed the paper in with the rest of the papers to his right, flipping it upside down for good measure.
As the door opened and Kano Ryota walked in, Izuku noticed that the man was holding several things in his arms – rolled-up papers, a small box, some more pens, and an oddly-shaped object that he recognized as a tape dispenser. As the man bent over and set the objects on the floor, he called out to Izuku, “You don’t need to get up yet, Midoriya-san. I still have some more things to get, and then we can sit down and talk.”
A few minutes later, he returned with some more rolled-up papers. In the intervening time, Izuku had exercised his limited self-control and left the first batch of materials alone while the doctor was away. When the doctor had set the second batch of material down and moved Izuku’s plate to the cart outside, he sat down a comfortable distance away from Izuku.
“Alright, that’s everything. Sorry for the wait, Midoriya-san.”
Izuku happily replied, “It’s no problem, Kano-san. What are the rolled papers?”
Kano shut his eyes and sighed. “This may be a long story, Midoriya-san, so please bear with me as I explain.” At Izuku’s nod, he continued. “So, you may have noticed that we weren’t really able to bring you any real toys while you’ve been here. I’m sorry about that, by the way, and the director is as well. The reason that we couldn’t is because of one of the hospital rules, which would take too long to explain.” Izuku nodded along.
“So, the director looked at the rules and found that we could give you anything that we had around the offices. This morning, I grabbed you a ream of paper from the printer and some pens from my desk. This afternoon, however, I had some more free time to spend looking for things around the office. First,” he picked up the bundle of pens sitting next to him, “I have some more pens for you! Some of these have different colors, and my co-workers happily gave you some… interesting colors. Before today, I didn’t even know that they made pens in that shade of green.”
At this, he removed the rubber band that was holding the bundle of pens together, putting it around his wrist in the same way Izuku had seen his mother do with hair ties. He handed the pens to Izuku, who took them in both hands and set them on his bed next to the other two that still had ink in them.
“The second thing that I found for you,” Ryota continued, “was a box of pencils! I know you haven’t really had any problems with the pens, judging from your art so far, but I looked it up and apparently pencils can make some really cool art. I look forwards to seeing what you can do with them.” Izuku took the box from his open hands and placed it on the bed, next to the pile of pens.
“The third thing that I brought you is kind of linked with the fourth thing. While I was looking around, I found a bunch of posters like the ones in the doctor’s office, and if you wanted, I figured I could tape some of them up for you. Your room is pretty undecorated, after all. So, you can look at these,” he gestured to the pyramid of paper tubes next to him, “and let me know which ones you want me to tape up. Also, if there are any of your drawings that you want me to put on the walls, just let me know, okay?”
At Izuku’s nod, the doctor stood up. “Well, it’s been nice talking to you, but I’m afraid that I have to go home soon. Look at the posters tonight, and tomorrow morning let me know which ones you want me to put up. Have a good night!”
“Good night, Kano-san! I’ll see you tomorrow!” Izuku called out as the man rose and left the room. Upon hearing the door click, Izuku thought ‘Kano-san didn’t notice the paper that I wrote a question on earlier.' At his power’s confirmation, he let out a sigh of relief and leaned backwards against the bedframe. After about a minute of rest, he leaned forwards and picked a poster from the top of the pile. It had some writing on the back, but Izuku was too eager and too tired to try and guess what the words he didn’t know meant.
Removing the rubber band, he unrolled the poster to see a strange person. It looked like a person, but for some reason he didn’t have any skin and his entire body was covered in weird red shapes that overlapped each other. Izuku didn’t remember seeing anything that looked like this before, so he put the poster against the bed behind him. The next poster was a skeleton, which Izuku recognized from the clinic at school. Izuku picked it up, walked over to the door, and set it down. It would just be creepy, he reasoned, to have a skeleton staring at him while he tried to sleep.
The next few posters were in a similar vein to the first – full people that looked odd or had weird lines on them. These Izuku set to the side with the first poster. The next set of four posters were shaped differently, in weird shapes that Izuku didn’t recognize. He put most of them in the “keep” pile, but some of them were just too weird for Izuku to want to sleep in the same room as them.
Having made his decisions, Izuku pulled out the paper he had hidden earlier. Re-reading the question, he thought for just over five minutes on the best way to phrase it.
‘My quirk doesn’t always respond to my thoughts.’ False.
Izuku thought this was odd, as there were clearly times when he was thinking, like right now, that his power wasn’t interrupting him to confirm that what he was thinking was true or false. He tried again.
‘My quirk isn’t interrupting me while I’m thinking.’ False.
This was especially confusing. Izuku pondered on this discrepancy for a few more minutes before coming to a conclusion.
‘I’m ignoring some of the answers that you give me because I’m busy thinking about something else.’ True.
Satisfied with this answer, Izuku re-hid the paper, this time folding it in half twice before slipping it in the pile. This way, he could hide the paper underneath another piece completely without worrying about it being seen if the papers shifted. Still, just to confirm, he asked another question.
‘Nobody will find this paper before I move it next.’ True.
With this assurance, Izuku went to the bathroom to wash up, brush his teeth, and otherwise get ready for bed. After moving the pens, pencils, and paper off of his bed and setting them on the ground at the foot of his bed, Izuku lay on his back underneath the blanket.
‘Only two more days until I see mom again.’ True.
With this, Izuku closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
Hospital Break Room
Five of Kano Ryota’s co-workers were waiting in the break room as he walked through after delivering the dirty dishes to the hospital kitchens. Because this was the Faraday Wards, all of them were men who took care of the patients there. Several of them were live-in staff due to their higher positions or prolonged interaction with high-risk patients who were taking a break.
It was a decidedly odd occurrence in the current day and age – women were often more employed and higher-paid due to their quirks allowing them to excel in their given specialties. Most of the management of the hospital, for example, were women with quirks that boosted their intelligence, speed, and other minor boosts that weren’t cut out for hero work but excelled in running a hospital. The women who worked as doctors often had quirks that aided precision, allowed them to perceive time slower while concentrating, or outright healed small wounds on their own.
The Faraday wards were the exception. All employees had to be quirkless for operational safety, because while the Faraday cage surrounding the facility was incredibly effective at preventing mental quirks from maintaining a connection there were no such protections if the user was also inside the facility. In the past, quirkless women had been hired as well, but after several incidents in central Europe where employees had lied about their lack of a quirk and taken advantage of patients in the ward the female employees had been transferred to other departments of the hospital.
The fact that a quirk had never surfaced in a man was the driving factor behind this unpopular policy, and so far, it had been successful in rehabilitating those affected by mental quirks.
So, when Ryota walked into the room that evening, the others started questioning him as soon as he sat down.
“So, Kano-san, how’s that boy that you told us about? You’re not usually this upbeat or interested about your patients, so what’s he done?” Funai Takao, a short man who worked with elderly patients asked. “There has to be some reason that you needed what looked like twenty pens…”
He trailed off, as Ryota pulled the drawing out of his pocket. “The kid’s a prodigy,” he said, setting the drawing down on the table in the center of the break room. “I gave him some paper and a few black pens this morning and he draws this for me by lunch. It’s far too realistic for him having only seen me for less than fifteen minutes total beforehand, and he’s only four years old. There’s no way his short-term memory is that good, and he wasn’t very good at drawing before he came here. The first few drawings I saw looked like something you’d expect from someone his age, but this… I don’t even know what to say.”
Kuse Yoshihiro, who was sitting to his left, nudged him, jokingly asking “You think he could draw one of those for us? I wouldn’t say no – in fact I think I’d frame something that looked that good.”
Ryota sighed. “He’d probably do it if he knew what you looked like. He drew this for me just because I brought him some paper and pens, and you’ve basically done the same thing with the different colored pens. He’s too selfless, something like this most people would pay good money for, and he just gives it away. I guess four-year-olds just have a different perspective than us.
While he was talking, Takao took Ryota’s phone from where he had set it down and opened the camera. Before Ryota reacted, he took a picture of himself and then a picture of Yoshihiro. The rest of the people in the room noticed what was going on and looked at the impromptu photographer while smiling to get their photos taken.
Pressing the phone into Ryota’s hand, Takao smiled. “Now you just need to find Goro-san tomorrow morning and you’ll have the whole set!” Here, his tone shifted, almost dripping with snobbery. “I expect my portrait by midday tomorrow, courier. Now go forth! Send my best to the great artist in the morning.”
Dropping the tone, he looked at Ryota with a more serious expression. “Get some sleep though, man. You look dead on your feet, and I’m the one that has to run and fetch things for the old folks.”
Ryota nodded, put his phone back in his pocket and stood up. “You’re right. I feel like a zombie, anyhow. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Take care!” With this, he left the break room, and after thinking for a bit headed to the director’s office.
Before he even entered the room, he could smell the distinct jasmine scent of Tsuji Riko’s quirk. Her quirk produced a jasmine scent which, according to rumors, was able to ease headaches and other mental fatigue. Walking into the scent and feeling his headache lessen, he was starting to take those rumors more seriously.
As he knocked on the ajar door, the jasmine scent faded away with the deactivation of the director’s quirk. He heard the familiar sounds of papers being shifted across a desk before the director called out, “Come in.”
There was little difference in the room since last night, but that was to be expected. It would be worrying if anything if the office had undergone a drastic change over the course of the day. As he sat down, the director leaned back in her chair, rubbing one eye while looking at him with the other. He took the implied invitation to speak.
“Good evening, Tsuji-san. I don’t have any big requests today, but I have an offer on behalf of myself, the rest of the crew here, and our newest patient. You see,” at this he pulled out the drawing from his pocket. “Young Midoriya has quite the talent with art, something that I discovered over the course of the day. He gave me this drawing earlier today as a ‘thank-you’ gift for bringing him the paper and pens. I’ve already collected the photos of my co-workers with their permission, and I was wondering if you would be interested in having Midoriya-san draw a picture of you, perhaps as a decoration for your office?”
Finishing his pitch, he looked meaningfully at the empty walls of her office.
Under normal circumstances, Riko would have been much more vocal in her response to this request. However, she was currently in a state similar to withdrawal from the abrupt cessation of her quirk. For all the good that it did when it was active to relieve her mental burdens, deactivating it all at once instead of slowly to ease the burden back onto herself hit hard.
In this state, she didn’t argue that there was no way a four-year old could draw that well or that there was no way he could draw someone that he had never met that well. She followed the gaze of her subordinate and noticed that her walls were indeed undecorated and nodded.
“Fine. Take your picture and tell the kid to draw me with some jasmine flowers.” She smiled towards him as best she could as he took the picture. “Now, and I mean this in the nicest way, please get out of my office and leave me to my paperwork.”
Ryota noticed the uncharacteristic behavior even though he was aware that his boss had likely been relying on her quirk for most of the day. He bowed slightly and backed out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.
With this, he finally left the building, heading home to his own dinner and a good night’s sleep.
He didn’t notice the jasmine odor return, and by the time Riko had eased her quirk-induced headache, it was too late for her to call him back in to either apologize for her abruptness or berate him for his request.
Monday, 7:00 AM, Izuku’s Room
Izuku woke up, going through his morning routine adapted to fit the limitation of being confined to the room. He went to the bathroom, moved everything from the foot of his bed on top of the bed, and sat down, a blank piece of paper in front of him and a collection of writing implements to his side.
After a quick confirmation that breakfast would be arriving more than half an hour from now, he got to work on determining the actual limits of his quirk.
‘You can only answer statements that can be answered with ‘True’ or ‘False’.’ True.
It was redundant, but Izuku wanted to ask again so that he knew what he was writing down was all true.
‘You can only react to my thoughts and writing.’ False.
This was almost as confusing as yesterday’s issue with him not being able to hear his quirk. After several more questions, he figured out that his quirk could react to any writing he saw, not just things that he wrote. Although his quirk was amazing, it was far too semantic for his liking.
The reply of True from his quirk, though annoying, only made him more determined to find out what it could do and where its limits were.
‘My ability to use my quirk efficiently depends on my ability to ask the right questions.’ True.
‘There is a ‘best question’ for me to ask you.’ False.
This was simultaneously disappointing and reassuring for Izuku, because he was both hoping that there would be a single answer to all of his problems and dreading trying to find what would undoubtedly be such a multifaceted question.
‘You can determine the future, even if I try to go against what you tell me.’ False.
This was not entirely reassuring, because although Izuku liked the idea of being able to tell the future, he also liked to feel that his choices matter. However, this raised worrying questions about how much free will anyone else had, if he was the only one that could not be predicted by his own power.
Izuku, however, was still a four-year-old, and this level of philosophical insight would have to wait much longer to arise. The confirmation that he could defy his power was good enough for him for now.
‘I can change the future that you see if I tell someone about your prediction.’ True.
Again, good to know that he could actually change things. Now he wanted to ask about the art, but the end of his 30 minutes of solitude was fast approaching. He had been writing things down on the blank paper throughout his questioning, and he asked one last question before folding up his paper and putting it away.
‘I can make a significant breakthrough in using my quirk before I leave the hospital.’ False.
With that disheartening response, he hid the list of rules he had made with the paper from the previous day, and absentmindedly started to draw with the pencils.
Pencils, Izuku decided in the 14-odd minutes that he used them before the familiar knock on the door, were much more versatile than pens. With a pen, any mark you made would be the same darkness, the same thickness, and would be just as prominent as any other mark you made. With a pencil, you could press harder for a darker shade or just barely scratch the paper to create a sheet of grey. With some assistance from his quirk, Izuku began to work on applying shading, first using one of his older drawings as a blueprint.
When the knock on the door came, however, it was clear that Izuku was not going to instantly become adept in using a pencil as he did with pens.
“Good morning Midoriya-san!” Ryota called, careful not to slip on the posters that Izuku had placed face-down near the door. Setting down the plate of breakfast, he looked at the posters beside the door. “Are these the ones that you don’t want to hang up or are these the ones you want me to hang up?” he asked.
Izuku nodded and followed the man around the walls of the room, bringing him the posters as soon as he finished putting the previous one up. When they finished, the room looked much more like a place someone would spend a lot of time, if that someone was a doctor or otherwise interested in medicine. Either way, Izuku’s room had new decorations and he was happy about this.
As Ryota sat down, he realized that he didn’t really know how to voice the requests of his co-workers and boss. At the time, it had made perfect sense that Izuku would be willing to draw pictures for them as well as him, but now that he was sitting in front of Izuku, it felt strange. It was just such an alien experience to ask a four-year-old for something like he was an adult who understood how societal conventions worked.
After a moment of hesitation, masked by a sigh, he decided to rip off the metaphorical band-aid. “Do you remember the picture you drew me yesterday, Midoriya-san??” he asked, trying to start a natural conversation instead of a request.
Izuku nodded. “Yeah, do you still like it? I can draw you another if that one wasn’t good enough!”
Ryota shook his head. “No, the picture is wonderful.” He decided to just go for it. “I showed the drawing to some of my co-workers who gave me pens and pencils for you yesterday, and a few of them wondered if you could draw pictures of them. You don’t need to, you must understand. I can tell them that…”
Here he was cut off by Izuku. Reasoning that they were just as deserving of the drawings as Kano-san was, he interrupted the end of his speech to give a cheerful confirmation. “Don’t worry, Kano-san! I’d love to draw pictures of them!”
He then realized that it would be very hard to draw the face of someone that he had never seen before, and even harder to explain how he had drawn their faces without ever having seen them. “Um, I might have to see them first though. It wouldn’t really be a good drawing if I didn’t know what they looked like.”
Ryota smiled, relieved that Izuku had agreed. He pulled out his phone and showed Izuku the photos of his coworkers, only moving on after Izuku had scribbled down some basic notes on what the individual looked like and asked him to move to the next person. After he ran through his six co-workers, he paused before swiping to the next photo. “Midoriya-san, the next person had a request for her photo. Do you know what a jasmine flower looks like?”
Izuku thought for a few seconds, asking his power if the flower he was thinking of was a jasmine flower. After only three wrong guesses, he got the right one. Fortunately, this happened fast enough that he could make it look like he was just thinking harder.
“Yeah, it’s the one that looks like this, right?” With this, he pulled out a piece of paper and his reliable black pen, quickly sketching an outline of the flower in question. This process took just over two minutes, which Izuku was only moderately aware of. Ryota, however, did not interrupt.
It was humbling to watch, he thought as he saw Izuku draw with a sure, confident hand. If Ryota had been drawing the flower, he probably would have required both an image or a flower to base his drawing off of, and even then, he would have spent nearly a minute trying to draw each line with a pencil, erasing any mistakes and trying again. The lines may look good in the end, but the faded marks of trial and error were always present in his attempts at art.
Izuku’s drawing with a pen, however, was diametrically opposed in style. Where Ryota’s hand may have wobbled, Izuku’s moved in a clear path. It was not that he wasn’t afraid of making mistakes because there was nothing he could do about them if they occurred, it was that there could be no mistakes because there was nothing to do about them.
If the pen wavered, then there was no point in beginning the drawing, and because he had begun to draw, the drawing must be completed. It was far more assured than even he was when signing something.
The sound of Izuku setting down his pen diverted his attention.
“Is this good?” Izuku asked, looking at him innocently in the way only children could do. As if he hadn’t just wounded Ryota’s self-esteem further.
“Yes, Izuku, that’s amazing. This nice lady,” Ryota swiped the screen to get to her photo, “wants you to draw her with some jasmine flowers. I’m pretty sure they’re her favorite flower, and I’m pretty sure she’ll hang the drawing in her office if she likes it enough, so be sure to sign it.”
Izuku made a few more notes about the woman, Tsuji Riko, before setting his pen down. Suddenly, an idea struck him.
“Actually, Kano-san, can I keep this one?” Izuku asked as Ryota was picking up the discarded posters. The one he pointed to had a large nose on it, detailing the olfactory system and its connection to the brain and the tongue. Kano, to his credit, managed to put two and two together, acquiescing to the younger boy’s request.
“I’ll be back with lunch later, Midoriya-san. And don’t forget to take breaks – all work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy, after all.”
As the door fell shut behind him, he caught Izuku’s call of “It’s all playtime in here, Kano-san!” He smiled, wishing that he could be so optimistic about his job. If all of his patients were like Midoriya-san, maybe he’d have the same disposition.
Izuku’s Room
As Izuku took his time drawing portraits for Kano-san’s co-workers, Izuku’s mind wandered. With the occasional use of his quirk when he was unsure of a line, he was otherwise free to ponder his quirk and his art.
‘You are making me better at art.’ True.
Izuku nodded at the confirmation of the basic fact.
‘Outside of answering my questions directly to you, you are making me better at art.’ True.
Again, this was nothing surprising. Izuku was well aware that he had gotten as good as he was in an unrealistically small amount of time. He knew that there were people who spent their whole lives to achieve the level of skill that he realistically could in a week, given the supplies and actual resources as well as his quirk. The tricky part now was figuring out how his quirk was helping him.
Sadly, Izuku’s questioning was only as good as his vocabulary and medical knowledge, so all he managed to get in the time it took to finish the drawings of Ryota’s co-workers was that his quirk was helping him remember the “right ways” to draw things based on questions he had already asked.
Setting aside the completed portraits, Izuku pulled out another blank sheet of paper to practice drawing with a pencil, drawing much smaller jasmine flowers and the woman’s face according to both his own ability and the aid of his quirk.
Once he was confident in his ability with drawing those, a slightly more intensive session of quirk use allowed him to draw the rest of the woman, clothed in the kind of everyday clothes that he was used to seeing his mom wear. The entirety of his preparation for the final drawing took less than thirty minutes.
Over the next hour and a half, Izuku filled the back of the poster he decided to keep with an image of the woman sitting down in the center of the midground, jasmine flowers surrounding her and filling the foreground of the garden. The background was left open, a clear view of a colorless sky dotted with clouds.
And at the bottom right corner, in the space he had deliberately left blank, he signed his name.
When Ryota arrived later that day with lunch, Izuku handed him the rolled-up poster and the six portraits with a smile. Izuku talked with him for a few minutes when he came to pick the dishes up, but neither of their hearts were in it. Kano was relieved because he wasn’t sure if his boss was actually angry about last night, and Izuku could only focus on the good news he had just gotten from his quirk.
‘I will be able to go home in less than 24 hours.’
True.