Froppy doesn't quite remember how she got into this.
There's something up with Iida - or rather, she corrects herself, as she watches her classmates scramble for costume-cases and last-minute snacks in the faint light of dawn, there's something up with Silver Star. Something further than the expected reaction to a loss in the family, that is. It's a bit of a shock, to see the always-uptight class president so obviously close to shattering; to see the cracks, plain for all to see, spreading across his countenance as much as he fights to hide them. Perhaps it's because he has always appeared so well-controlled and steadfast, a stone statue in human form. It's a simple trick to fall for, she thinks with some minor chagrin - one she's all too familiar with, and one she ought to have noticed, as a master of its use. Silver Star is the younger brother, after all, and one to a sibling who must have been almost-grown in his earliest memories; the fact that Froppy, the eldest daughter and oft-caregiver besides, might have fallen for its warm face is a little embarrassing; if a testament to her classmate's character.
Regardless of who he is, she thinks, he couldn't be faulted for faltering now. The weight of a sibling's name must be quite the burden, even in the best of circumstances; and these are hardly anything close. She recalls, in her idle stance, Iida's pride in the family name, and sees Satsuki rushing from the kitchen to show off misshapen slices of fruit, Samidare sliding sheets of printer paper across the table with clumsy, crayon-drawings of a teenaged girl in a green bodysuit and goggles. She hears awestruck cheering, and absolute confidence, and portents of doom for those caught in her way; "Froppy's going to be the best hero ever! You'll capture any villain who stands in your way, won't you, Tsu-nee-chan?"
Older siblings, she knows, are meant to weather everything life might throw at their charges; they aren't meant to break under pressure, aren't meant to leave their siblings behind. For one a few years younger, they are to be an example of strength. For one several years younger, they are to be a shield, with all the durability that entails.
She isn't sure what a sibling with a decade and a half on their fellow is meant to be. Invincible, she supposes. Or nearly so. She already steps close enough to that perilous edge, chasing after her own pair of charges; to be so old, and grand, and not dip your toes into that dangerous ocean must be nigh impossible.
She imagines, with a shiver quite unrelated to the dawn breeze, Samidare rushing around the kitchen for bento boxes and crying over the sting of their younger sister's caramelised onions; imagines Satsuki in Froppy's hero costume, wearing too-large gloves and fighting villains twice her size.
It must be terrible, she thinks, to realise your sibling's fragility and become them in one fell swoop; to be presented with the skin of an immortal and be asked to wear it.
Silver Star yells something at Chargebolt, voice too-high and strained. His glasses are askew; she catches vague snatches of words, "careless" and "integrity" and "injured" as he waves a hand crushing an empty can of coffee. His eyes were near-bruised with dark rings when she saw him last; she wonders if the shadows have cleared from them, at all, in the time between then and now. They'd been red, too, beneath the out-of-place glass and purple haze of exhaustion - if that had been grief, or frustration, or the bleeding of sleep across flesh, she doesn't know. It probably doesn''t matter much, in the grand scheme of things, anyway; not when the effect itself is far more important.
Her Sensei barks out her name and some brief reminders, pointing her towards her assigned transport in clipped tones, and she turns away from the scene.
Froppy, she resolves, won't fall. Not now, as a hero-in-training, nor later, as a freshly-minted pro, nor even later, when even baby Satsuki is grown-up and making her way in the world. Not ever.
She can't afford to.
Crocus knows, roughly, how she got into this, insomuch as anyone ever could.
There's already a furiously whispering gossip triangle in the corner of the classroom when Tsu steps through the door. Tsu is not averse to them, really; not averse to the trade of facts and half-fact-half-fiction, nor the whispering and giggling of classmates bonding over the inconsequential and grand alike. But they're already halfway through some tale of Ashido's provision, she notes, and thus opts to stay quiet for a moment, so as not to disturb the conversational flow too much.
"Oh my," Uraraka gasps; holds a hand up to her mouth in shock. The morning light spills motes of sunshine across her short, neat hair. "That's so scary! What happened to him?"
"That's just it, they don't know," Ashido says, almost gleeful at the juicy new information. She's leaning in conspiratorially, phone held in an impeccably manicured hand. "People have been speculating online about secret conspiracies or vigilante activity, but the police aren't talking about it."
The thin air next to her creaks, and crinkles appear at the shoulder of her school blouse. "No way," Hagakure's voice breathes. "Do you think they messed up, somehow?"
"They must have," Ashido says. "Everyone saw him take down that - that thing, on the news. Didn't we? So it's gotta have - gotta have happened after that, right?"
"Serves him damn right," Uraraka huffs. "It's only fair that he can't go 'round hurting people anymore, yeah?"
"I guess," Hagakure says, but shivers, exaggerated from invisible head to shoed toes. "But you're so right, it's so scary! What if someone decided to come after someone like us, next?"
"Ah, I'm sure that won't happen," Uraraka says, looking away, and waves a hand with a slight deficit of enthusiasm. The conversation, Tsu thinks, has gone on quite long enough without her own input.
"What are you talking about?" she asks, and croaks for emphasis. "Did something happen on internships?"
Ashido snaps around to look at her with the speed of a predator, a glint in her eye. "Not on our internships," she says, "But yeah, something happened, alright. You saw Hosu, didn't you?"
"I watched a broadcast," Tsu tells her; because who hasn't? Who, from their class most of all, would tune out the whispers of "Nōmu" and "monster" and "Hero Killer"? The idea is foolish to the extreme - and carelessly cold, besides. "Why? Something about that, then?"
Ashido snorts. "Yeah, you could say that," she drawls. "It's breaking news - Stain's gone and lost his Quirk."
Tsu frowns; thinks back to watching the broadcast, Selkie looking over her shoulder and commenting on the ongoing disaster, patting her shoulder and uttering soothing words as her knuckles turned white with worry. "Lost his Quirk?" she asks, puzzled. She knows how someone like her might lose parts of a quirk - but Stain, she thinks, is not much like her at all. "You mean he's lost a hand or something? I don't remember seeing that happen..."
Ashido shakes her head vigorously. "Not like that," she says. "I mean - it says they tested him for it, when they were sending him to prison - and it's gone. Like, gone-gone. Poof. Nothing there."
The idea is... Tsu imagines her own features, disappearing right before her eyes, bloodless and clean, and shakes her head. "That's impossible, isn't it?"
"Anything's possible, with the right quirk or the right determination," Uraraka remarks, darkly. "You saw that - that thing, at the USJ, right? That's proof there's some crazy quirk science out there, isn't it?"
"Man, I can't believe they didn't catch whoever did it!" Hagakure exclaims, and rambles on, before Tsu can spend much time wondering what she's referring to. "First, Iida 'n Todoroki 'n Midoriya are all standing around when Stain gets out, and now this...!"
Ashido scowls. "Police," she grumbles. "Ah, I guess I can't complain too much, though. He had it coming."
"He really did," Uraraka agrees; smiles, face splitting open in a show of teeth. She looks like she might take on Stain herself; somehow, it's comforting, more than intimidating. "Guess karma comes for everyone eventually, huh?"
"I just hope Iida feel better," Hagakure says, rueful. "He's always been so nice, and he must have been right there when Endeavor caught Stain! That must have been so scary... who knows what might have happened if someone wasn't there to save him!"
Yes, Tsu agrees to herself, and thinks of Iida, young and polished and handsome in heirloom armour. Who knows, indeed.
It must have been such a simple thing, she thinks, to just turn a corner in the labyrinth of buildings, and come face to face with a murderer. Terribly, horribly easy - criminally so. And to do so without the backing of someone strong enough to go toe-to-toe with them, someone powerful enough to do the dirty work, someone you could rely on to come to your aid no matter what...
Tsu is terribly, regrettably glad she didn't go to Hosu.
Tsu knows exactly how she got into this.
"Tsu-chan?"
The voice on the other end of the phone line is crackly with distance and more mature than Tsu remembers, but she recognises it all the same, the phantom image of her friend blooming before her eyes, cobbled together from fond memory and warm hopes. "Habuko-chan," she says. "It's nice to hear you, again."
"It's nice to hear from you, too," her old friend agrees. "It's been a while, Tsu-chan."
Tsu purses her lips; her friends' words are gentle, but she can make out the hint of reproach in her voice, the slight pause of her words and the lowered pitch of her speech. "It has," she says. "I'm sorry. I've been too busy, lately."
"I saw," Habuko says. "On the news. Some of what's been keeping you busy, I mean." She pauses; Tsu can hear her breath across the line, distorted but irrefutably there. "They said it was proof of how good the next generation was, that trainee heroes could fight off so many villains and win."
Tsu winces, despite herself. She remembers reading the news reports, that evening; remembers the polished, fawning words, and her siblings gasping at the news report, clamouring for attention, "Did you really fight off all those villains, O-nee-chan?"
She'd not had the heart to disabuse them of their romantic notions. It wasn't their fault they'd been spoon-fed roses, after all; and it wasn't her job to serve them misery; just green bitters.
"You know what the news is like," she says, eventually. "It was... different, to what they said."
"Different?" Habuko asks the question uncertainly, but there's a certain eagerness behind it. Tsu hates to pop her friend's bubble; but she'd really rather not think about it more than she has to.
"Different," she repeats with a croak. "Just... messier than they made it out to be. Between that, and the festival, and internships... we had intern week not long ago, you know?"
"Right," Habuko says thoughtfully. She's almost certainly tapping her fingers against a table, or her bedsheets; Tsu knows it, even if she can't prove it. "I saw some of your classmates, on TV. In Hosu. The green one, and the legacy kids."
"I saw that, too," Tsu murmurs. "I'm glad I was on the coast. I don't think I could have stood up to all that."
"Real scary, seeing them get attacked by that madman," Habuko comments; Tsu can almost see her shuddering in distaste from her toes to the tip of her nose. "And all those monsters! Still, you must have been pretty safe on the coast, yeah?"
"Yes," Tsu says. "I interned with Selkie. He took good care of me."
"Selkie... yes, he would," Habuko says. The sentence is meaningful; but without emphasis, its weight slips away from them. "That's good. I would hate for something to happen to you, Tsu-chan."
There's quiet, for a moment.
"He nearly died," Tsu says, abruptly. "Sensei, I mean. He was protecting us - protecting me - and that - that villain - he -"
She breaks off amidst Habuko's gasp of shock. "At the break-in incident?" she asks, incredulously.. "Tsu-chan! You said it was different, not that they were - covering something up!"
"They're not," Tsu says. The words are dull; her voice is dull. "No students were critically injured. There were no fatalities. All but two of the villains were apprehended."
A pause. Something rustles on the other side of the line.
"I'm sorry I didn't call you, too," Habuko says, finally. "I've been busy, as well. There's been all these tests, and I had to sign up for clubs for my resume, and - "
"I know, Habuko-chan," Tsuyu says. "I know. You're forgiven."
"I'm gonna graduate with top marks," Habuko tells her. "Best of the best. They'll have to make excuses not to hire me."
"I know, Habuko-chan," Tsu repeats. "You're a hard worker. I know you can do it."
"...thank you, Tsu-chan," Habuko says, quietly. Regretfully.
Time and distance, Tsu thinks, are quite the pieces of work, even in the digital age. "What's it like?" she asks, and misses the before-times - the times when these questions would have been redundant. "At your school. Are the clubs fun? Do you have new friends?"
"I - yeah," Habuko says. "It's good. I have - new friends. A couple. Clubs' aren't too bad. What about you?"
Tsu croaks in reply. "Well, we're not allowed to join clubs. But I have some friends, yes. You would have seen them, during the festival, if you watched it. Urar - Uravity, and Seiji, and Silver Star."
Habuko made a soft hissing sound. "Geez, do they not even let you share their names? That's harsh, Tsu-chan."
"Safety," Tsu says, flatly; understanding the surprise, but ever-practical. "It's a lost cause for the legacies, but for some of us..."
"For you, maybe," Habuko mutters. "Since frog-quirks aren't so rare as they used to be. And some of the others, I guess. Say, what's Seiji's quirk, anyway? I've never seen him use it."
"He - I'm not allowed to tell you that, either," Tsu says, knocked off-balance. "Not... not yet. I'm sorry."
"That's kind of paranoid, Tsu-chan," Habuko sighs. Which is true, from a certain point of view; but then again, Habuko is not to be a hero.
Tsu opens her mouth - pauses. Thinks for a moment. "I think you could figure it out, Habuko-chan," she says, slowly. "It's not that difficult. Just hidden."
The girl on the other end of the line huffs. "Tsu-chan," she whines. "That's so cryptic! He's not, like - I dunno - hiding some crazy super-strength quirk like All Might's, is he? Or - like - crazy tentacle things? Breaking the laws of physics? Some sort of exception to the laws of quirk science?"
Tsu almost laughs. The ideas are absurd, really; but fair, in a world where emitters abound and quirk science is upended once a decade. "No," she says. "No, it's nothing like that. He's perfectly ordinary."
Habuko doesn't speak, for a moment; the soft crackle of her breath is all Tsu has to see when she fits the pieces together. "Oh," Habuko says. "I see."
"Don't tell anyone," Tsu reminds her. "At all. It's a secret."
"I know," Habuko assures her; assures her in the same voice she used, when they swore they were best friends. "I know. I'll keep it quiet."
"Thanks," Tsu sighs. "It - it's important. To him. So it's important to me, too." She croaks, quietly, and can almost see Habuko's soft smile in front of her.
"You were always good at caring for other people, Tsu-chan," her old friend says. "Yeah, I'll keep your important secrets. Because we're gonna stick together, forever. Right?"
Habuko, Tsu reflects, is rather intimidating, and rather far away, and Tsu's best friend ever; and distance is no object, really, when it comes to Tsu deciding to protect those she loves. "Yes," she agrees. "Together. Forever."
"May I ask you a question?" Nemo asks. He doesn't look at her; just stares off into the late afternoon sky, far above the hustle and bustle of the streets, gaze cast away from her as much as the unconscious, bound-up package behind them.
"That's fine with me," Crocus says. "What is it?"
His eyes glint, blues almost turning green in the golden haze of sunset. "Why do you want to be a hero, Crocus-chan?"
She thinks, for a moment; the answer bubbles up as naturally as drawing breath. "I want to save people who can't save themselves," she says. "I want to save people like me."