Chapter 44

₊˚⊹✷ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄
⤷ you weren’t the only one.

ON THEIR WALK BACK, All Might told the entire backstory. He talked about how Midoriya had been quirkless, how he’d still run forward to save someone without thinking twice, how that single moment had been enough. He talked about the months of preparation that followed, about strengthening a body that had never been meant to hold that kind of power. About earning the right to survive the quirk before ever truly using it.

Oda listened from a step behind, hands shoved deep into his pockets, eyes on the path ahead but mind drifting elsewhere. 

The story was different in the details, but the bones of it were achingly familiar. Training before power. A body reshaped to accommodate something it hadn’t been born with. 

The difference was stark, though—All Might’s version of training sounded loud, messy, almost warm in its own way. Sunlight, beaches, movement, encouragement. Not the sterile white walls of a lab. Not needles and monitors and men who spoke in clipped voices while pretending not to look at him like a weapon.

Midoriya and All Might’s quirk had a name. One For All.

A power passed down from one person to the next. From All Might’s master, to All Might himself, and then to Midoriya. And before that, others—previous wielders. All Might spoke about how he’d used that power to become the Symbol of Peace. How six years ago, a single fight had gravely injured him, limiting his strength, putting a timer on a life he’d once thought endless.

And finally, how he’d chosen his successor.

“If this got out, people’d be confused and they’d start wondering where the power is,” Bakugo said sharply. “You idiot. What were you thinking when you first told me about it?”

Midoriya shot him a weary look but didn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the ground as they walked.

“It was my own choice to use up the last of my abilities,” All Might stated, voice firm despite the exhaustion that clung to him. “I said this earlier but… that was in no way your fault. Nor was it Young Edogawa’s.”

Oda stiffened slightly at the mention of his name, jaw tightening, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It doesn’t change what I have to do,” Bakugo replied, tone low and unyielding.

“True. You’re right about that,” All Might said quietly.

Bakugo glanced sideways at Midoriya, eyes sharp again, familiar fire reigniting. “Things aren’t gonna be the same though, Deku. You got that? You’ve been watching me and everyone around you, absorbing what you see to get stronger. Well, I can do the exact same thing and keep getting better myself. I’ll go higher than even you, Chosen One.”

“Right,” Midoriya answered without missing a beat. “Then I guess I’ll just have to be even better than that.”

That, predictably, pissed Bakugo off, and the two of them went back and forth for a few heated seconds. It was almost comforting in its normalcy.

Then Midoriya slowed slightly and glanced back over his shoulder at Oda, who’d been trailing behind them, quiet and observant.

“Wait—Edogawa.” The green-haired boy didn’t stop walking, but his eyes stayed fixed on him. “All Might said you already knew about transferable quirks? How? I thought One For All was the only one?”

“If it can happen once, don’t you think it can happen again?” Oda raised an eyebrow, tone mild but guarded. “And it’s not that my quirk was transferable to begin with, it’s…” He trailed off, fingers flexing in his pockets as the words slipped out of reach.

“A story for another time,” All Might cut in smoothly, casting Oda a knowing look. “I’m not trying to get you in trouble. I figure you have enough stressors as is.”

“Trouble?” Midoriya repeated, confusion flickering across his face

Bakugo sighed loudly, “Are we just spilling our guts now or what? One of you wanna admit to a murder next?”

“Murder??” Midoriya echoed immediately.

“What are you, a broken record?!” Bakugo snapped back, sharp and defensive, the words flying out. His nerves were still frayed, his adrenaline hadn’t burned off yet, and everything felt too exposed, too raw.

Oda lifted both hands in a placating gesture, palms out in surrender as he walked. “It’s not murder, jeez.” It’s not far off though, he thought dryly, the memory of blood and collapsing structures flashing unhelpfully through his mind, but he kept that part firmly to himself. “How about we worry about how much trouble we’re in instead, yeah?”

That got Bakugo’s attention immediately.

“Yeah,” Bakugo said, snapping his head toward him. “Why’d you come in first place?”

“And how did you know we were out here?” Midoriya added at the same time, clearly still stuck on that part.

“I was on the roof,” Oda replied easily.

Midoriya’s stare snapped to him in an instant, a very specific mix of horror, concern, and something dangerously close to panic flickering across his face.

Oda noticed it and immediately grimaced. “Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t gonna off myself, Jesus. Who do you take me for?”

Midoriya turned his head away a little too quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“Uh-huh,” Oda replied flatly, not buying it for a second.

Bakugo clicked his tongue, clearly irritated that the focus had shifted away from his question. “You still haven’t answered me,” he grumbled, eyes narrowed at Oda.

Oda shrugged, shoulders rolling like the entire situation barely registered as a big deal. “Just didn’t want what was left of the Symbol of Peace to go kaboom in the crossfire.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Bakugo shouted immediately, offense flaring hot and fast.

Oda didn’t even break stride as he slipped forward, deliberately moving between Bakugo and Midoriya to walk alongside All Might instead of trailing behind them. “Oh yeah, sure,” he shot back without looking. “Really seemed like it.”

“You little twerp—”

“Calm down, Young Bakugo,” All Might cut in firmly, the weight of authority in his voice despite his diminished form. “Edogawa brought up One For All, so I figured I’d just explain it to both of you.”

Bakugo scoffed but didn’t argue, shoving his hands into his pockets instead, jaw clenched tight.

“I was already out past curfew anyway,” Oda added casually as the dorms came into view, the lights glowing softly against the dark.

The moment they stepped inside the dorm building, before any of them could even fully register anything, Aizawa’s capture scarf snapped. It coiled around Bakugo and Midoriya with brutal precision, wrapping tight around their torsos and arms, pinning them in place so suddenly that both of them choked on sharp, startled breaths. The fabric cinched hard enough that their shoulders were forced back and their chests compressed, every inhale a struggle.

“You fought the night you finished the preliminary hero licensing exam?” Aizawa’s voice cut through the entryway, flat and lethal.  “I’m glad to see that you two have so much energy.”

He was pissed. Not irritated. Not disappointed. Pissed.

“Aizawa wait—hold up on those restraints! It’s my fault that they sparred in the first place.” All Might stepped forward immediately, hands raised in a placating gesture as he closed the distance between himself and his fellow teacher. 

He leaned in close, lowering his voice, muttering something Oda couldn’t hear. Whatever was said was quick, hushed, and clearly serious.

Aizawa’s expression didn’t soften, but after a tense beat, the capture scarf slackened. It withdrew just enough to let Bakugo and Midoriya breathe properly again before fully releasing them, snapping back to rest around Aizawa’s shoulders.

“I understand that they felt they had to break the rules,” Aizawa said, his tone still sharp, his irritation far from gone. “But this isn’t something I can just ignore. There must be a suitable punishment. Who threw the first punch?”

“I did.” Bakugo answered without hesitation. 

“I also went pretty hard. It wasn’t just him.” Midoriya added quickly, shoulders tense, clearly unwilling to let Bakugo shoulder the blame alone.

Aizawa didn’t look impressed by the honesty. If anything, it seemed to annoy him more.

“You’re both on house arrest!” he declared. “Four days for Bakugo and three for Midoriya. During that time you’ll clean all the common areas in the dorm, morning and night. Plus I want a written apology.”

Then his gaze shifted, sharp and unyielding, locking onto Oda.

“And don’t even get me started on you.”

Oda immediately dropped his eyes to the floor, hands in his pockets, posture shrinking just slightly. “Sorry,” he muttered, the word low and rough.

“Are you trying to bust an organ or do you just think this is funny?” Aizawa demanded, stepping closer, “You endured an entire test without injury and then what? Just decided to test your luck?”

“I’m fine.” Oda sighed, clearly exhausted rather than defensive.

Aizawa’s jaw clenched hard. “I’d put you on house arrest but you’re so far behind already that your overseers will throw a fit. Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

At the mention of Ango, Oda’s shoulders drew up instinctively, tension snapping through his spine. “No, sir.”

Aizawa held his stare for a long moment before exhaling through his nose. “You’re allowed to go to classes, but you’re banned from training this week and you’ll aid these two in chores. Do you understand me?”

“Yessir.”

Aizawa turned back to the other two, his patience visibly thinning. “Bakugo, head to the infirmary to get those cuts treated, but don’t rely on the old lady’s quirk. You two are to find a way to heal yourselves. Edogawa, the old lady has your medication, so get your ass over there.”

“Yessir,” all three answered in sync, the word coming out automatic.

“That’s all. Go. I’m sick of looking at you.” Aizawa dismissed them with a sharp wave of his hand, already turning away.

None of them argued. They scattered immediately.

𓏵

THE WALK TO THE INFIRMARY was quiet in the way only late nights at UA ever were, when the halls were dimmed to their after-hours lighting and the usual background noise of a school full of teenagers had been replaced by the hum of ventilation and the distant buzz of security lights outside. Oda walked a several steps behind Bakugo, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders loose but posture tired, like the tension had finally started leaking out of him now that the adrenaline was gone.

Bakugo stalked ahead with his usual aggressive stride, jaw set, eyes forward. The scrapes on his forearms were still visible even in the low light, angry red against his skin. He looked like he was running purely on momentum at this point, pride dragging him forward when exhaustion would’ve otherwise flattened him.

Neither of them said anything at first. It wasn’t an awkward silence exactly, more like both of them were too wrung out to bother filling the space with insults or commentary. The night had taken enough out of them already.

The infirmary door slid open with a soft electronic chime, and the lights inside were dimmer than usual. The place didn’t look closed so much as sleepy. One of the beds had its curtain half drawn, and the smell of antiseptic hung faintly in the air.

“About time,” a small, scratchy voice muttered.

Recovery Girl shuffled out from behind one of the partitions, wearing fluffy slippers and pastel pajamas patterned with little cartoon apples. Her hair was slightly messier than usual, and she had a blanket draped over one shoulder like she’d been dragged out of bed rather than voluntarily gotten up.

Oda straightened immediately. “Sorry,” he said, genuinely. “Aizawa sent us.”

“I know he did,” she grumbled, squinting at them. Her eyes locked on Oda. 

She huffed, clearly unimpressed, and waddled over to one of the cabinets, pulling it open with practiced familiarity. “Your medication finally came in earlier today. I was going to have Aizawa notify you in the morning, but I suppose this works too.”

Oda’s breath caught despite himself.

“Really?” The word slipped out before he could stop it, the relief sharp and immediate, like something heavy had finally been lifted off his chest.

“Yes, really,” she replied, pulling out a small labeled bottle and setting it in his hands with more care than her gruff tone suggested. “Take it exactly as prescribed. No skipping. No ‘I’ll be fine without it’.”

Oda nodded quickly, fingers curling around the bottle like it might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight. “Thank you,” he said, quieter now. “Seriously.”

“Mm.” Recovery Girl eyed him for a moment longer, then waved a hand dismissively. “Just get some actual rest tonight, how bout?” She shot Bakugo one last glare. “And you. Sit. He’s banned from using my quirk, not from you being allotted to use first aid. Odasaku, give him a hand, will you?”

“Pardon?”

“What—” Bakugo started, but Recovery Girl was already turning back toward her bed, blanket slipping back into place over her shoulder.

“I’m going back to sleep,” she declared. “Don’t injure yourselves before morning.”

The lights dimmed a little further as she disappeared behind the curtain, leaving the two boys alone in the infirmary.

Bakugo scowled. “I don’t need help.”

“Sit down,” Oda said calmly, already pulling a roll of bandages and antiseptic wipes from the nearby tray.

“I said—”

“Sit. Down.” Oda’s tone wasn’t loud, but it was too stubborn to back off.

Bakugo stared at him for a long second, bristling, pride flaring in his eyes like it always did. Then he clicked his tongue and dropped onto the edge of one of the beds with a frustrated huff. 

Oda stepped closer, sitting on a stool in front of Bakugo and gently taking hold of his arm before Bakugo could yank it away. The skin was warm, scraped and bruised beneath his fingers, and Oda worked methodically, cleaning the cuts first despite Bakugo’s constant irritation.

“Don’t touch it like that,” Bakugo snapped.

“You want it wrapped or not?” Oda replied without looking up.

Bakugo grumbled something unintelligible but didn’t pull away again.

Oda moved with careful precision, wrapping the bandages snug but not tight, mindful of circulation, of movement, of the fact that Bakugo would absolutely complain if it restricted him even a little.

“You done this before?” Bakugo muttered, eyes flicking away.

“Had it done to me,” Oda corrected simply. “A lot.”

Bakugo watched him work with narrowed eyes, the earlier hostility dulled into something heavier and harder to pin down, like suspicion mixed with exhaustion. 

“You finally gonna be able to sleep without killing anyone?” Bakugo asked dryly.

“I should.” Oda replied as he moved onto Bakugo’s other arm, methodical, steady, disinfecting it first with practiced care that made it clear he’d done this far more times than a normal teenager ever should have.

Bakugo’s eyes didn’t leave him.

The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable, wasn’t explosive either. It stretched, filled with everything that hadn’t been said since Kamino, since the dorms, since the nights of explosions and the mornings of pretending everything was fine. Oda could feel Bakugo watching him like he was waiting for a wrong move, a wrong word, an opening to snap back into anger.

Oda’s fingers slowed just slightly as he wrapped the gauze, his mind racing ahead of his mouth. He knew he should say something. He also knew Bakugo was the kind of person who reacted to emotional conversations the same way he reacted to threats: with fire. Still, if he didn’t say it now, he wasn’t sure he ever would.

“You—” Oda paused a moment before he committed, the word hanging there as he chose his next ones carefully. “You weren’t the only one the League kidnapped. You realize that, right?”

“What?” Bakugo’s expression hardened immediately, jaw tightening, shoulders going stiff beneath Oda’s hands.

“You keep on talking like Kamino was somehow your fault, but if it’s your fault, then it’s as much mine.” Oda continued, not looking up at him, focusing instead on the wrap. “I’m not saying it is, All Might already made it pretty clear that he doesn’t blame us. But solely blaming yourself makes no sense.”

Bakugo was silent for a long moment, the kind of silence that felt like it might snap at any second. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, edged with frustration. “It’s different for you. You were injured. You couldn’t have fought back even if you wanted to. If I’d just been paying attention then that damn magician—”

“We were at a training camp we thought we were safe at.” Oda cut him off immediately, more firmly than he’d intended, his hands tightening for half a second before he forced them to relax again. “No one saw it coming. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I’m only alive right now because of you. There aren’t that many people who could have pulled that off so quit beating yourself up over it.”

Bakugo’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He looked away, eyes fixed on the opposite wall. “You don’t feel guilty? Even a little?” 

Oda paused, the roll of bandage hovering in his hands as the weight of that question settled in his chest. He thought about Kamino. About concrete dust and villains and pain so sharp it blurred the world. About waking up restrained, about hands pulling him free, about the fact that he shouldn’t still be breathing.

Then he said, carefully, “Guilt is one of those emotions that I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on. If I falter, all of this is over for me. I’m defective enough as it is, I don’t need another handicap.”

“What are you, a robot?” Bakugo shot back, the bite returning to his voice, but it lacked its usual venom.

“Painfully self-aware as Kaminari so poetically put it.” Oda retorted, tying off Bakugo’s last bandage and finally letting his hands fall away.

Bakugo stared at him for a moment before he looked away, jaw tight, eyes fixed somewhere over Oda’s shoulder. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, filled with the faint hum of the infirmary lights and the lingering antiseptic smell that clung to the air. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than usual, stripped of some of its bite.

“Can I ask you a question and you give me an honest answer?”

Oda blinked, surprised by the tone more than the request itself. He considered it, actually thought about it instead of snapping back automatically.

 “Only if I get to ask one in return.”

The blond’s lips pressing together as he weighed whether this was worth it, before finally conceding with a barely perceptible nod. “Why the hell are you fighting so hard to stay at UA? Seems like more trouble than it’s worth.”

The question hit harder than Oda expected, not because it was cruel, but because it cut cleanly through layers of excuses he hadn’t realized he’d been hiding behind. 

He’d already committed to the deal, already agreed to honesty, so there was no backing out now. He let out a slow breath, eyes drifting toward the far wall.

“Honestly?” he said finally. “I haven’t thought about that hard.”

“You are painfully one-track minded,” Bakugo shot back immediately, the familiar sharpness creeping into his voice.

Oda shot him a glare, irritation flaring, but he didn’t shut down. Instead, he elaborated, “I was sent to UA on assignment. I tend to do as I’m told. But after All for One recognized me, I realized the panic wasn’t because he knew who I was, it was more what my overseer’s reaction would be. I knew I’d be taken out of UA, and that I really didn’t wanna be so I asked Ranpo to lie and tried to keep the truth from you. I can’t tell if it’s because I wanna be here, or because the alternative is much worse. Or both.”

Bakugo’s eyes flicked back to him, sharp with curiosity despite himself. “What’s the alternative?”

“That’s two questions. It’s my turn,” Oda countered without missing a beat.

Bakugo ground his teeth together, clearly annoyed, but after a second he exhaled sharply through his nose and relented. “Fine.”

The black-haired boy didn’t answer right away. He sat there, hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at the scuffed linoleum floor like it might offer clarity. 

When he finally looked back up at Bakugo, his expression was unreadable, dark eyes steady. “Are you gonna be okay tonight?”

The answer didn’t come in words so much as the immediate reaction Bakugo had to it. 

His posture went rigid, shoulders squaring as if bracing for impact, jaw clenching. It was painfully obvious he hadn’t thought about it, or maybe had been avoiding thinking about it altogether, and the realization clearly pissed him off.

Oda watched it happen, recognition settling in, and something in his chest tightened. 

Then, he let out a quiet sigh. He shoved his hands back into his pockets, stood, and turned toward the door.

“That’s it?” Bakugo asked, irritation flaring as he watched Oda’s back.

Oda paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder, “I’ve got too much to worry about to lend any to someone who doesn’t want it. If you want my help, fine. If you don’t, that’s your call. Your decisions are yours. If you suffer because of them, it’s not on me.”

And then Oda left, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click.