Chapter 28

₊˚⊹✷ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑
⤷ a very aggressive Jehovah’s Witness.

ODA’S CONSCIOUSNESS CAME back slowly, like wading up through thick water, every sensation muted and delayed. Sound reached him first—soft beeping, distant voices, the low hum of machinery that never quite stopped. His body felt heavy in a way that was different from pain. It wasn’t the sharp, tearing agony he associated with pushing his quirk too far, but something duller, deeper, the kind of exhaustion that lived in the marrow.

He realized dimly that this wasn’t the first time he’d woken up.

That knowledge was oddly comforting.

He’d been drifting in and out for days, though time had blurred so badly that “days” felt more like a theory than a fact. 

He remembered flashes—bright lights, hands pressing against his chest, voices arguing over numbers and scans, the distinct sensation of something rebuilding him from the inside out in a way that felt invasive and wrong. 

Each time he surfaced, it had been brief. A woman doctor with a cell-reconstruction quirk would do their work, forcing damaged tissue to knit back together molecule by molecule, and then someone else would apologize softly before pushing drugs into his IV that dragged him back under.

That part, at least, he appreciated.

Drug-induced unconsciousness meant no nightmares. No half-awake panic where his quirk flared on instinct and turned the room into a crater. No sudden jolts where gravity bent the wrong way because his body thought it was still fighting. If he startled awake this way, the hospital wouldn’t still be standing.

When he finally woke properly, really woke, the first thing he noticed was how quiet it felt inside his chest. The constant warning ache that usually lived under his ribs was muted, like someone had turned the volume down instead of silencing it completely.

The second thing he noticed was the man in the chair next to his bed.

Ranpo Edogawa was sitting sideways, feet kicked up onto the edge of the mattress, one ankle crossed over the other. A half-empty bag of pretzels rested in his lap, and he was chewing loudly, eyes locked on the television mounted high on the wall. He looked entirely too relaxed for someone sitting beside a hospital bed, like this was a lazy afternoon instead of the aftermath of a national catastrophe.

Oda followed Ranpo’s gaze to the TV.

The headline scrolling across the screen made his stomach drop.

THE SYMBOL OF PEACE IS FINISHED AFTER BATTLE WITH THE VILLAIN ALL FOR ONE.

Footage played beneath it—blurred clips of destruction, All Might’s massive form mid-punch, the shockwaves rippling outward like tidal waves made of air. Oda’s breath hitched before he even realized he’d sat up halfway in bed, heart slamming hard enough that the monitors beside him protested.

“Is All Might dead?” he blurted, voice thin and airy, like the question had scraped its way out of his lungs instead of being spoken.

Ranpo startled so badly he nearly dropped the pretzels.

His head snapped around, eyes wide in genuine surprise before he broke into a crooked grin. “Nah. Just retired,” he said easily, waving a hand as if that explained everything. “And a skeleton, but apparently that’s been his true form for a while now.”

He leaned back in the chair again, glancing at the screen as more footage rolled. “Welcome back to the land of the living. Did you enjoy your Purple-induced kick?”

Oda blinked at him, still trying to get his pulse under control. The image of All Might shrinking, weakened, burned behind his eyes even as relief settled in his chest. Retired was bad. Skeleton was worse. But alive mattered more than anything else.

“Purple?” Oda frowned, the word feeling unfamiliar and unpleasant in his mouth. 

His memory was a mess—completely fragmented. He remembered the bar. He remembered snapping at All For One, the sheer wrongness of that man’s presence pressing down on him. He remembered Bakugo’s shoulder under his arm, explosions shaking the world as Bakugo carried him through hell. After that, everything dissolved into noise and color and nothing at all.

“When did I take Purple?”

“Pretty sure Que administered it to keep you alive,” Ranpo replied, sounding distinctly unimpressed as he popped another pretzel into his mouth. “You’re lucky it was you. Anyone else and they’d be weaning some teenager off a psychedelic drug while filing a mountain of paperwork.”

Oda’s brows knit together. He flexed his fingers slowly, testing the sensation, the control. Everything felt… normal. Tired, sore, but normal. 

“I’m fine, though?” he asked carefully. “I’m not like… an addict now?”

Ranpo snorted, finally turning his full attention back to Oda. “No. Since your mom was stuck with it in her system when she gave birth to you, you were born with traces of it in your bloodstream. Yosano says the dose Que gave you will disperse in your system and eventually wither back down to their normal levels.”

His voice dropped slightly, just enough to signal that this part mattered. “Which is why we’re lucky it was you. And concerning that Que is hiding access to Purple.”

That sat heavy in Oda’s chest, but before he could respond, another thought pushed its way to the front, urgent and sharp.

“They didn’t give any to Bakugo?” Oda asked, eyes flicking up to Ranpo’s face.

“No,” Ranpo said without hesitation. “Like I said, I think Que was just trying to save your life.” He sighed, rubbing at his temple. “They were a dumbass about it, but I guess they got the job done. And so did Yosano, you should thank her when you see her.”

Oda let out a quiet snort at that and a nod. He was lucky the doctor was around. The humor faded quickly, though, replaced by a tight knot of worry that had nothing to do with his own injuries. “Is Bakugo okay?”

“The explosion kid?” Ranpo made a face, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, he’s fine. Police took him in for questioning and then safely returned him to his parents.”

Relief had barely finished settling into Oda’s chest before it shattered, brittle and sharp, under the weight of memory.

The hospital room seemed to dim around him as the voice came back, not spoken aloud but echoing with perfect clarity inside his head, as if it had been branded there.

“Oh… I see. You’re one of his.”

All For One’s voice slid through his thoughts like oil, smooth and knowing and utterly certain.

Oda sucked in a sharp breath that burned on the way down, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. His hands curled into the sheets, knuckles whitening, before he dragged his knees up to his chest in a defensive, instinctive motion that made the IV lines tug uncomfortably at his arm. He barely noticed.

“Ranpo,” he said, his voice coming out rough and unsteady, far more fragile than he wanted it to be. His chest rose and fell too fast, each breath shallow, his ribs aching with the effort. “I’m pretty sure All For One knows who I am.”

Ranpo’s casual posture evaporated instantly.

“What?” His pretzel bag crinkled as his hand stilled, and his expression dropped into something sharp and serious. “How?”

“I dunno,” Oda shook his head hard, as if that might dislodge the memory, the certainty of it. His eyes fixed on the blanket bunched around his legs. “He just looked down at me… and I guess he saw Dad because he—he said I’m ‘one of his.'”

The words hit him again as he spoke them, heavier now, real in a way they hadn’t been when they were trapped inside his skull. His breathing stuttered, panic clawing up his throat.

“And if Ango finds out…” His voice cracked despite his best effort to keep it steady. “My—my time at UA is done and I…” A harsh, humorless laugh burst out of him before he could stop it. “Fuck.”

He dropped his head forward, pressing his face into his knees like he could fold in on himself and disappear.

Ranpo stared at him for a long moment, silent in a way that was far more unsettling than his usual running commentary. When he finally spoke, his tone was careful, probing.

“Do you… care whether or not you’re going to UA?”

“My other option is prison,” Oda snapped immediately, the words sharp and defensive.

“Not necessarily,” Ranpo shot back without missing a beat. “You could just train for the agency and become freelance. Like most of us did. You’d be closer under Ango’s gaze.”

“But I…” Oda trailed off, the argument dying before it could fully form. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, frustration tightening his throat. He didn’t have the language for what he was feeling, and that realization only made the panic worse.

He hadn’t expected this.

When Ango had first told him UA was where he’d be training, he’d thought it was stupid. A glorified school for kids playing at heroics, clinging to ideals that didn’t survive contact with the real world. He’d gone in expecting to endure it, nothing more.

But somewhere along the way, that had changed.

Those idiots. Those loud, earnest, infuriatingly hopeful kids. They made things feel… lighter. Like the world wasn’t just corruption and consequences and blood on concrete. Like maybe, just maybe, there was something worth reaching for.

The thought of losing that made his chest feel tight.

“You don’t wanna leave UA,” Ranpo said slowly, realization settling into his features. “Since when do you actually care about being a hero? Ango just needs you to get the license.”

“I know. I do. I just…” Oda shook his head again, the motion small and helpless this time. “I have… friends. I’ve never had friends.”

Ranpo’s expression shifted, something soft and sad flickering there before he could hide it.

“And now I do,” Oda continued quietly. “And yeah, they can be childish, and hopeless, but…” His voice lowered. “I really like ’em. But Ango’s gonna take this away if he finds out that All For fucking One knows who I am.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Oda snapped back, lifting his head just enough to glare through the mess of his hair. “He told me so, when all this started. I used up a strike at the Sports Festival. Getting kidnapped is definitely strike two. Which would make All For One knowing strike three. I’m out.”

“Unless Ango doesn’t find out.” Ranpo hummed, thoughtful, head tilting as his mind raced ahead.  “You and I are the only ones with this information. Unfortunately, though, All For One’s not dead, he’s in prison. Which puts him under Ango’s supervision. If Ango interrogates him and it comes out, that’s that. But there’s a chance that doesn’t happen.”

Oda looked up at him, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion. “Why?”

“Well,” Ranpo said, voice turning analytical, “All For One more than likely wants your father’s quirk. That quirk is in you. And if you stay at UA then he knows just where you are—and his followers know just where you are—it’s easy access.”

He shrugged lightly. “So he’d know not to let that slip to Ango, even to antagonize him, because it’d screw up his chances to get his hands on that power.”

“He keeps the secret for his own gain,” Oda muttered. “That’ll put a target on UA.”

“But there’s already been a target on UA,” Ranpo replied calmly.

“So who’s gonna notice?” The teen let out.

“Who’s gonna notice?” Ranpo repeated, amusement sparking. “No one. Until they reveal their motives. Then you might be screwed. But if you can keep it under wraps then… you’ve got yourself a several-month period. At least. Few couple more months of the fantasy, and then it all might go away anyway.” He chuckled to himself. “Heh, heh. ‘All Might.'”

“Shut up,” Oda scoffed, but the edge had dulled.

“Here’s how I figure,” Ranpo continued, ignoring the boy’s attitude completely. “Either you rip the bandaid off now and give up UA. Or you stay, get more attached, and get ripped away by the hair in about five months… give or take.”

Oda shifted against the pillows, the hospital sheets whispering softly under the movement. He shrugged, a small, almost careless gesture that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I think there will be less hair ripping and more quirk damping handcuffs but sure. Yeah.”

Ranpo snorted under his breath, unimpressed. “Those are shit options, just so you know.”

“I got that,” Oda scoffed, staring up at the ceiling tiles.

Ranpo leaned forward this time, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. His voice dropped, losing some of its teasing edge. “You really wanna do this?”

“I do, yeah.”

There was no hesitation in the answer. That alone made Ranpo pause.

“Why?” Ranpo asked.

“Why?” Oda echoed, turning his head to look at him.

“Why stay?” Ranpo pressed. “What’s the point if it ends the same either way?” His gaze sharpened, searching Oda’s face. “Come on. Admit that some tiny part of yourself wants to be a cliché hero.”

Oda let out a slow breath and shook his head, the motion small, thoughtful rather than dismissive. His mind drifted, unbidden, to memories he rarely let himself linger on. His mother’s tired smile. His father’s shadow looming larger than life but bright.

“Cliché… no,” Oda scoffed quietly. He swallowed, then continued more carefully. “But I guess… I dunno. When I was a kid… right about the time you met me, actually…” His voice softened, almost distant. “I had this dream. This stupid idea that I… I someday wanted to become the hero my parents never had. Someone who stopped people becoming villains.”

Ranpo raised an eyebrow. “Like the Symbol of Peace?”

“No. No.” Oda shook his head more firmly now, conviction threading through his words. “I understand the concept of All Might, but he’s a tyrant. The concept of him is just someone for the villains to fear.” His fingers curled into the blanket as he spoke. “And yeah, he inspires people to become like him, but he also inspires people to hate the way society is built. I think Mom and Shigaraki are proof of that.”

Ranpo didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t wanna scare villains,” Oda continued, his voice low but steady. “I wanna resonate with broken people, so they don’t do the bad things that make them a villain.”

Ranpo’s eyes flicked back and forth as he processed that, gears visibly turning behind the sharp gaze. After a moment, his eyes settled back on Oda’s.

“You wanna be the hero your dad could have been if he wasn’t so loyal to the mafia.”

Oda huffed softly, a humorless sound, and shrugged again. “By nature, yeah.”

Ranpo’s mouth quirked up despite himself, something between a smile and a grimace. “Well, damn, kid. You put it like that and how the hell am I supposed to be honest with the Secretary of Defense?”

The kid couldn’t help it. A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Alright,” Ranpo sighed, pushing himself back in the chair. “I’ll stick my neck out this time. And probably every time you ask me to, but…” His eyes softened, just a fraction. “Just remember this UA thing isn’t guaranteed to be permanent.”

Oda nodded quietly, the smile fading as quickly as it had appeared.

“It never was.” 

𓏵

THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR came precisely at four in the afternoon, sharp and polite and entirely out of place for Ranpo’s apartment in Yokohama, which usually only received visitors who either already knew better or absolutely did not care.

Ranpo, who had been lounging sideways across the couch with his feet on the armrest and a half-finished logic puzzle book balanced on his chest, didn’t move at first. He stared at the ceiling like the sound might resolve itself on its own if he ignored it long enough.

There was another knock, firmer this time, unmistakably professional.

“Wow,” Ranpo muttered, finally sitting up. “That’s either the government or a very aggressive Jehovah’s Witness.”

Oda, who had been in the kitchen rinsing out a mug, froze where he was. He didn’t need to ask who it was. He already knew. 

“I’ll get it,” Ranpo called, far too cheerfully for someone who absolutely intended to be a problem about this.

Oda stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and the living room just as Ranpo swung the door open.

All Might was nothing more but a tall, thin man now, dressed not in his hero costume but in civilian clothes that somehow still failed to make him look like a normal human being. Beside him stood Aizawa, hands in his pockets, eyes already tired like he’d expected this to be a hassle from the moment the meeting was suggested.

“Good afternoon,” All Might let out awkwardly, “Detective, it’s been a long time. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us.”

Ranpo blinked at him slowly, then looked Aizawa up and down with exaggerated scrutiny before leaning his weight against the doorframe.

“Wow,” Ranpo said. “They sent the Symbol of Peace himself. What is this, a hostage negotiation?”

Aizawa sighed through his nose. “We’re just here to talk.”

“Oh good,” Ranpo replied immediately. “Because I love talking to institutions that have already decided what they want.”

From behind him, Oda cleared his throat. “Ranpo.”

Ranpo waved a hand without looking back. 

All Might laughed awkwardly, clearly choosing to pretend this was charming rather than mildly threatening. “If it’s alright, may we come in?”

Ranpo stared at him for a long, deliberate second, then stepped aside with a flourish. “By all means. Please enter my humble den of criminal negligence.”

They stepped inside, All Might carefully navigating the narrow entryway while Aizawa followed. Ranpo shut the door behind them and gestured vaguely toward the couch.

“Sit wherever,” he said. “Nothing here is more valuable than my time.” Ranpo said, then dropped into the armchair across from the couch and propped his feet up again.

All Might remained standing for a moment before sitting, folding his hands neatly in his lap. Aizawa stayed on his feet, leaning back against the wall near the window, posture relaxed but eyes sharp.

“We’re here,” All Might began, “to discuss the possibility of Odasaku moving into UA High’s on-campus dormitories.”

Ranpo’s face immediately twisted into something theatrical and offended.

“Ah,” he said. “So this is about you wanting to take my kid and put him in a building that keeps getting attacked by terrorists.”

Oda opened his mouth. “Ranpo—”

“I’m just clarifying,” Ranpo continued breezily. “Because from where I’m sitting, this sounds less like a request and more like a dare.”

Aizawa finally spoke. “The dorm system exists to protect the students.”

Ranpo laughed, loud and sharp. “Oh, fantastic. Because you’ve all done such a stellar job of that so far.”

All Might winced but didn’t argue.

“The dorms are monitored,” Aizawa continued, unfazed. “He would be under constant supervision. Security has been upgraded. Patrols increased. It’s safer than commuting.”

Ranpo leaned forward, eyes glittering. “You mean safer than here?”

All Might tried again, voice earnest. “Odasaku has already been targeted once. Keeping him closer to the school allows us to respond faster in case of emergency.”

“And whose fault is that?” Ranpo shot back instantly. “Because last I checked, I didn’t invite the League of Villains to summer camp.”

Oda groaned as he walked all the way into the living room. “Ranpo, you’re full of shit.”

All three adults froze, then turned to look at him.

Ranpo turned slowest. “Excuse you?”

“You heard me,” Oda said, flatly. “You already knew this was coming. You’ve been pacing since Principal Nezu emailed.”

Ranpo scoffed. “I pace recreationally.”

“You reorganized the pantry alphabetically,” Oda countered. “You’re stressed.”

Aizawa blinked once. All Might tried not to smile.

Ranpo pointed at Oda. “Betrayal. Absolute betrayal.”

“You don’t like that I want to stay.” Oda shot back.

The detective crossed his arms. “I don’t like that they keep trying to kill you.”

“You already said I could stay if it was my decision.”

Ranpo squinted up at him. “I said that under duress.”

“You said it two days ago,” Oda replied. 

Ranpo opened his mouth, closed it, then leaned back with an exaggerated sigh like he was being personally victimized. “I raised you to argue better than this,” he muttered.

“You also raised me to call you out when you’re lying,” Oda said calmly.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Ranpo groaned and dragged both hands down his face. “Ugh. Fine.”

All Might straightened. “Does that mean—”

“Yes,” Ranpo snapped. “It means yes. He can live in your creepy concrete bunker of hero children.”

Oda blinked. “That easy?”

Ranpo pointed at him. “Do not make a thing out of this or I’ll revoke it on principle.”

Oda’s homeroom teacher inclined his head slightly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Ranpo waved him off. “Just try not to get him kidnapped again.”

All Might laughed, relieved. “We’ll do our utmost.”

𓏵

ON THE EDGE OF UA’S campus, far enough away that it felt separate from the main school but close enough to still fall under its watchful eye, they had built the student dormitories. Heights Alliance rose from the cleared ground. Constructed in just three days, the building looked newly born.

The dormitories were massive, five floors tall and split cleanly into two symmetrical wings that mirrored one another. Above the main entrance, bold lettering marked the building with its class designation, and beneath it hung a simple sign that read “Alliance”. The entire structure was circled by low hedge bushes, trimmed neatly, their uniform shape broken only by a clear path left open to the entrance, guiding anyone approaching straight to the front.

The entrance itself was broad and welcoming, made up of two sets of double doors that gleamed faintly in the sunlight. Along the paved pathway leading up to them sat two park benches, and flanking the path were two tall light towers. The first level of the building was stark white, while the upper floors were clad in warm brown bricks that softened its appearance.

Two days after the teachers had gone door to door, visiting the homes of every student in Class 1A, and a full week after the Kamino Ward battle had shaken the world, all twenty-one students of Class 1A stood outside their brand-new dormitory. Bags were slung over shoulders, dragged along the pavement, or stacked awkwardly at their feet, and the group looked equal parts excited, and uncertain.

Mr. Aizawa stood at the front of the group, capture scarf loose around his neck, eyes heavy but alert as he looked over his students. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the sight of them all together sink in, alive and breathing and accounted for.

“Given everything that has happened,” their teacher began, his voice low and steady, “I’m glad we were able to bring Class A back together.”

There was a subtle shift through the group at that, shoulders easing just a fraction, as if hearing it said out loud made it real.

“So, we all got the go ahead to move on campus,” Sero grinned, his usual easygoing tone to slipping through.

Hagakure let out a long sigh, “It took a lot of convincing for my parents.”

“I was pretty concerned about mine,” Jiro agreed, tugging lightly at one of her earbuds as she glanced around at the building.

“It makes sense,” Ojiro said evenly. “You got the worst of the gas attack.”

“We’re glad to see the teachers got to come back too,” Asui added, her voice gentle but sincere. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be allowed. The people at the press conference seemed pretty upset with you guys.”

“Yeah,” Uraraka nodded, her expression tight as she remembered the broadcasts.

“I was surprised as well,” Aizawa admitted without sugarcoating it. “But circumstances have changed.” He straightened slightly, shifting gears. “Now then. I’ll explain how your dorm assignment will work shortly. First, however…” His gaze sharpened, sweeping over them. “We haven’t forgotten about the provisional hero licenses you were supposed to get during the training camp.”

“Oh yeah! That’s what we were there for,” Sato let out, blinking hard.

“So much has happened it totally slipped my mind,” Ashido agreed, forcing a laugh.

“This is important. Listen well,” Aizawa said, dead serious now, and the casual murmuring died instantly. “Kirishima. Yaoyorozu. Todoroki. Midoriya. Iida. You five are the ones who broke the rules and went to rescue Bakugo and Edogawa that night.”

Oda blinked at that, his eyes flicking instinctively toward his classmates. He hadn’t forgotten that night for a second, but hearing it framed like this made his chest tighten.

A ripple of nervous energy passed through the rest of the class, a few students shifting uneasily where they stood, and Asui let out a quiet, instinctive, “Ribbit.”

Aizawa studied his students in silence for a long moment, his tired eyes moving from face to face. The courtyard felt unnaturally still under his gaze, the excitement of moving in draining out of the air as the reality of his scrutiny settled in. Finally, he let out a slow sigh, one that carried far more exhaustion than anger.

“Based on your reactions,” he said at last, voice flat but heavy, “I assume the rest of you were at least aware of their plan.” A few students stiffened, shoulders tightening. “I’m going to set aside a number of issues and just say this: If it weren’t for All Might’s retirement from the Hero scene, I would expel everyone here except Bakugo, Edogawa, Jiro and Hagakure. The five of you were went, of course, but also the remaining twelve who didn’t stop them.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You betrayed our trust. Even if it was to keep your friends from getting into trouble. In order to regain our confidence, you’ll need to obey every rule to the letter and live as model students.”

The weight of that sank in hard, a collective swallow passing through the class as the reality of how close they had come to losing everything finally hit.

“That’s all.” Aizawa turned his back on them, facing the brand-new building behind him. “Now. Look alive. Enjoy your new home.”

For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

“Uh,” Sero let out weakly, breaking the silence.

“We’re supposed to be excited after that speech?” Kaminari asked, glancing around as if looking for permission to laugh and finding none.

The entire class seemed frozen in place, caught between relief and lingering dread, not quite sure how to transition from a near-expulsion lecture into celebration. Bags sat forgotten at their feet, and the shiny dorm loomed ahead of them like it was waiting for them to figure it out.

Then, without warning, Bakugo grabbed Kaminari by the back of his shirt and yanked him bodily away from his spot next to Oda.

“Come here.”

“Dude,” Oda blinked, startled, watching Kaminari get hauled off.

“Uh-huh? Wait. For what?” Kaminari protested as he was dragged behind the hedges near the entrance, his heels skidding slightly over the pavement.

A second later, a crackle of electricity lit up from behind the bushes, bright and unmistakable.

When Kaminari reemerged, his eyes were glassy, his posture slack, and he was grinning like an idiot while giving enthusiastic thumbs up to absolutely no one, laughing dumbly under his breath.

Jiro burst out laughing, clutching her stomach.

“Dude. What did Bakugo do to you?” Sero laughed, pointing openly.

“For real,” Oda chuckled, the tension finally cracking enough for genuine amusement to leak through.

Bakugo ignored them all and walked straight up to Kirishima, pulling a thick stack of cash from his pocket and holding it out flat.

“Whoa! Did you shake him down for cash??” Kirishima exclaimed, eyes going wide.

“No! This is my money, you idiot,” Bakugo growled. “To replace what you spent.”

“Uh. How did you know I bought night vision goggles?” Kirishima blinked, genuinely baffled.

Bakugo didn’t answer. He just shoved the money into Kirishima’s chest hard enough to make him stumble back a step before turning away, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Don’t say I never gave you anything. Now I’m not in your debt. Kaminari! Show ‘im your dumb side.”

Kaminari immediately saluted with exaggerated enthusiasm, still laughing like nothing in the world mattered.

The sight was too much for Jiro, who doubled over. “Oh, man, what a moron. You’re so hopeless.”

“It isn’t funny guys!” Sero protested, even as he laughed right along with them.

“I think it’s pretty funny.” Oda said.

Sero turned on him. “You’re not even laughing.”

“What, you can’t tell? This my amused face.” Oda shot back, pointing at himself.

That only made Kirishima laugh. 

Honestly, the Kaminari distraction was just what all of them needed to loosen up for the day.