Chapter Text
Now that I think back to it, maybe it would have been smart to accept Momo’s invitation to get to class early, and introduce myself slowly to my new classmates as they trickled in. But old habits die hard. I tended to like to make an entrance on my first day at a new school, and even though the eyes belonging to the bodies in these desks would not flare with any recognition as I walked in, a brand-new experience for me, I assure you, I still found comfort in that routine. It was a comfort that I could cling to, at the very least, because the fact that my reputation would not precede me was only one of many ways in which this boarding school was already different.
I could hear the chatter, clearer than most would be able to, as soon as I stepped around the corner into the correct hallway. There were bodies bustling around me, dressed in the same uniform as I was, perhaps taken aback by the new student starting in the middle of the term or perhaps thinking nothing of me at all. I didn’t bother listening. It was the speculation in my soon to be classroom that I was focused on, and it had already begun.
“Your friend is starting today, right Yaomomo?” Someone asked.
“She’s supposed to be,” Momo said uncertainly. “I don’t know where she is.”
“What’s she like?” Another voice asked, definitely a girl.
“She’s intense.” Momo told her back. “You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.”
That wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting. I thought soft, innocent thoughts as I approached the doorway that read 1-A so that my face would display a smile with the least possible intensity. I widened my eyes enough to make them appear bright and eager, while still seeming kind. I entered the classroom, which was already more than halfway full, and raised a hand in a wave to them.
“Hi there.”
“That’s her?” Someone turned to whisper, swatting someone else on the arm.
“Yes! Another girl!” Someone else said.
There was more whispering, which I quickly tuned out of when I realized that Momo had been right, and nobody was whispering about the fact that I was Cassie Stronghold. I was just a regular new student, just like in those old timey movies. How interesting this was.
“Cass!” Momo called out excitedly from the back of the classroom, raising from her desk.
Aside from starting as an unknown, another difference that this school offered me was that I already knew someone, and that person happened to be my best, and only, friend in the entire world. She rushed over, wrapping her arms around me, and I did the same, mindful to be careful with her, and let her sway me side to side a few times.
“I’m so excited you’re here!” She told me, letting me out of the hug but keeping our hands grasping each other’s forearms between us. “We’ll get to see each other every day!”
“It’s a dream come true, gorgeous,” I told her back, reaching up to touch her cheek. She swatted my hand playfully.
“Tone it down,” she told me in low voice. “People are going to get the wrong idea.”
“Ugh,” I teased her back, sticking my bottom lip out. “I have to keep my hands to myself?”
“What did she just say?” I heard a shocked whisper. That wasn’t ideal.
“I wouldn’t make her,” someone whispered. That was good. Maybe I wouldn’t be too bored.
“If you want somewhere to put your hands, put er there,” a blonde with loud eyes suddenly in front of me said, holding his hand out. “I’m Kaminari Denki.”
Oh, I vaguely remembered this one. Electric.
“Stronghold Cassie,” I told him, taking it. His eyes flared at the contact, but not at the name.
I liked this. It was like being a spy. Others were coming now, some of which I more vaguely remembered from watching the sports festival, and others not so much, offering me their hands and backwards names. There were some, however, from intimidation or indifference, that remained in their desks, and the person I was most interested in meeting was among them.
“I’m Mineta Minoru,” a small purple thing tried to cut in. His eyes were not focused on my face, and the hand he extended to me was not reaching for mine. I recognized this one as the one who had clung to Momo the entire first leg of the sports festival. I swatted his hand away harshly.
“I’ll kill you later,” I told him. Looking over towards the back wall at the side profile of a scowling face turned towards the window, I broke away from the group. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Cass,” Momo warned, her eyes suddenly both worried and pleading, reaching out to grab my wrist. “Don’t.”
I flicked her hand off and continued making my way over. I slid into the chair in front of his desk backwards, pressing my knees into it and leaning over the back of it, elbows leaning down onto the desk in front of him. There was no way he didn’t notice me do this, but he refused to acknowledge it anyways. This filled me with great amusement.
“Hi, Bakugo Katsuki.” I told him, taking time with the syllables.
“New extra,” he said, without looking away from the window.
“Cass,” Momo said again, suddenly beside us, shaking her head. “Leave him alone.”
“I’m not doing anything to him,” I told her innocently. “I’m just making friends.”
That comment triggered his hostile red glare to land on me, his eyes flicking up and down. It gave me an opportunity to get a good look at his eyes. They flared with anger and displeasure with a comfort that suggested it was his baseline emotional state. Despite never meeting me before, they showed absolutely no intimidation or uncertainty. It was just annoyance. Just like I knew it would be.
“I’m Stronghold Cassie,” I continued, taking time with those syllables as well, placing the fingertips of my left hand to my chest. “I’m so excited to meet you.”
“Join the club,” he told me indifferently.
“I’ve been very much looking forward to it ever since I saw you in the sports festival,” I said, forcing myself to rid my tone of all sarcasm. “And now here you are, in person, right in front of me.”
“She’s excited to meet Bakugo?” someone speculated in shock. “Why?”
“Why else?” someone sighed. “Douchebags get all the girls.”
I had to put considerable effort towards stifling my laughter after that comment.
“Bakugo,” Momo said, switching tactics after she realized she was getting nowhere with me. “Just ignore her.”
His eyes were showing some confusion now, as they looked up at her wide, suggesting eyes and slight shaking of her head and returned to me, where I was resting my sweet expression in my hands.
“Well, you’ve met me,” he said, thick with annoyance and arrogance, ignoring Momo’s instructions, just as I knew he would. “Now fuck off.”
The flickers of confusion in his eyes were getting louder, but instead of overpowering the anger and annoyance, they increased in intensity as well. His body was becoming more tense behind the desk now, and to his credit, that showed more self restraint than I expected. However, it was reaching a breaking point. I let out a long sigh of satisfaction.
“You are just as awful as I knew you’d be.”
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He yelled, opening the floodgates.
“Oh, I’m sorry, has your adorable little firework trick made you hard of hearing?” I said, maintaining my sweet tone, increasing the density in my knees and elbows, just in case. I leaned in a little more. “I said that you are just as awful as I knew you’d be.”
“Do you want to fucking die?” He raised a sparking hand.
“No quirks in the classroom!” Someone yelled from across the room. “You’ll get written up again!”
“Did you hear that?” I laughed, looking up at Momo’s face, which was flushed heavy with a disappointment that I elected to ignore. “He thinks he can kill me.”
“Don’t egg her on,” she pleaded more to Bakugo.
“You’re so cute,” I told him.
“She said he’s what?” That blonde electric was cracking up.
“Man,” someone else said, rushing over. I did recognize this one. The redhead from the sports festival. Boy me. That was interesting. And admittedly, unexpected. “Chill out. It’s her first day.”
“She started it!” The angry blonde yelled back at him, motioning to my face, which was still flushed with amusement.
“You’re seriously going to pick a fight with him the morning of your first day?” Momo said, in her version of a hiss.
“He lives just down the hall from me.” I shrugged and smiled up at her. “He’s lucky I waited this long.”
“You want to fight?” He asked me, some intrigue flooding into his angry tone.
Abandoning his quirk, he elected to kick my chair hard under the desk. Upon impact however, all he succeeded in doing was sending himself and his own chair flying into the empty desks and chairs behind him with such force that furthest desk hit the wall and the rest of them knocked against it with a deafening screech. Under my density, neither the chair I was kneeling on nor the desk I was leaning my elbows onto moved an inch. My own grin widened. Finally, in that red glare, there it was. The uncertainty.
“Stronghold,” a tired monotone accompanied by a sigh called from the door. “Are you starting trouble already?”
My new homeroom teacher, Aizawa Shouta, didn’t like me very much. He made that immediately clear in my initial intake meeting with him, Principal Nezu, and my dad. He had the skill and the decency to dress it up in professional jargon, but he made no hesitation of stating that he thought me a troublemaker that didn’t belong at this school. To his credit, he is technically correct about both of those things. Because of my own reasons, including pride and the fact that he is the first teacher, the first adult in general, if we’re being honest, I’ve ever had not take an immediate liking to me, the distaste is mutual.
He doesn’t trust me either, but that has less to do with me specifically and more so where I come from. Anyone who knows anything about Americans knows that they are notorious liars, and although I haven’t been back to my home country other than for quick holiday breaks or formal events over the past couple years, the liar’s nature certainly manifests in me. That sentiment is one sided. I can read him well enough, so whether or not I trust him is irrelevant.
Unfortunately, whether we like or trust each other is also irrelevant. In addition to being my teacher, he is going to be attempting to tutor me in quirk control in exchange for my father doubling his salary. The teacher thing is mostly for show, really. Appearances, and a way to keep an eye on me. I probably have more formal experience training others than he does, and he knows it. For the time being, we’re going to have to tolerate each other.
“Of course not, sir,” I told him back, turning in the chair to face the set of eyes that went along with that voice, already flaring with irritation directed at me specifically. “My chair is where it’s supposed to be.”
He responded with nothing but a sigh. As I turned back around in the chair, enjoying the sounds of angry breathing, quiet curses, and the sounds of desk legs sliding along the floor, I realized that there was a reason Aizawa hadn’t corrected that statement. This was the desk directly facing his own. The fact that it was directly in front of Bakugo fucking Katsuki’s as well was just a happy accident. I’d be able to annoy two people at once for most of the day. I couldn’t believe my luck.
Trailing Aizawa into the classroom, flushed from what seemed to be rushing, was that green haired and green-eyed kid that my dad told me I should try to align myself with. He’d been my dad’s top pick to win this year’s sports festival. He thought him clever after what he’d done with the landmines, and seemed impressed with him even after he failed to place in the top three. As he saw me, his eyes flared with an instant recognition that I hadn’t expected to see.
“Our new transfer student is Cassie Stronghold?” He stammered.
“Hi, Midoriya Izuku,” I said sweetly, my face lighting up as he approached where I was sitting. “You know who I am, huh?”
“What the fuck, Deku?” Bakugo yelled at him now, as he finished up sliding his chair back to his desk. “You know this bitch?”
Midoriya’s eyes suddenly widened more, flooding with horror as they looked back and forth between the two of us. He then started stammering, and bent at the waist, bowing his head down at me. Oh brother.
“I apologize on his behalf, Miss Stronghold.” He told me, still facing down to the floor. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“It’s alright. We’re just playing,” I teased indirectly as I reached out for the green haired boy’s shoulders and placed him back upright until he was facing me. I smiled, hoping to put him at some ease. “It’s great to meet you, too. My father and I are fans of yours.”
“F-f-f-fans?” He stammered, pointing to himself. “Of mine?”
“Take your seats,” Aizawa said, tired and impatient. “Stronghold, join me at the front.”
I did as I was told. The room’s shuffling and whispers ceased. I could have used the opportunity to get a better look at the class as a whole, but I was more interested in what kind of an introduction I would get from a reluctant Aizawa. When my father told him that he expected him to exercise honor in introducing her to the students, I could have sworn I’d heard his jaw clench.
“This is our new American transfer student, Stronghold Cassie,” he told the class.
“Mr. Aizawa,” Midoriya began, raising his hand.
“She’ll be an asset to our class,” Aizawa continued, ignoring Midoriya. “I expect you all to be welcoming. You can sit.”
I’m not sure it honored me, but it was factual and relatively kind. Before I reached my seat, another figure appeared in the doorway, and I instantly felt more at ease. I immediately turned my shoulders towards the door, glancing over them to place my hands on opposite forearms behind my back. The American gesture of respect.
“Miss Stronghold,” All-Might said with a welcoming smile. After sliding his papers and coffee mug onto the podium at the front of the classroom, he returned the gesture. “I wanted to come by to introduce myself and welcome you.”
“I appreciate that, sir.” I told him back, respectfully lifting my chin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I already knew that All-Might would like me a lot better than Aizawa did. He was a fan of American heroes in general, including and especially my father, and his opinion of me was likely to be a direct positive extension of that. As he had Americanized his hero career, Americans pretended to hold him in high regard as well, regardless of how much they enjoyed mocking him in their private circles. My father especially. This active dislike told me enough. American men in positions of power didn’t tend to talk down on anyone they weren’t secretly intimidated by. That didn’t apply to me though, and the liking was mutual.
“I’ve heard many impressive things about you,” he announced to me as well as to the room, doing better at following my father’s instructions than Aizawa without any coaching at all. “UA is lucky to have you.”
“I could say the same thing about you, sir,” I told him kindly. “It was a shame to hear you’d retired before I arrived, however. I am curious how I would have fared opposite you.”
That comment triggered a sea of whispers and speculations that admittedly, confused me more than anything else. It was mostly disbelief. I studied All-Might’s face for clues as to why, but he simply seemed amused.
“Quite the American demeanor you have,” he said with a laugh and a shake of the head, the way one does to an unruly child. “A piece of advice, if I may.”
“Of course,” I nodded, my eyebrows raising in genuine curiosity.
“This institution is run differently compared to the ones you are used to,” he said, dropping his arms and reaching to gather his things from the podium. “You may have more success making friends if you don’t pick too many fights with your classmates.”
The class erupted into laughter, and the look on All-Might’s face told me that instantly he knew that his advice had come just slightly too late. I took the opportunity to take a quick glance over my shoulder at Bakugo, who had turned his furious glare back out towards the window. Momo, at the back of the class, was hiding her face behind a hand.
“I’ll keep it to a minimum,” I promised.
Unlike most years of my formal education, this school had academic lectures for most of the day. That would have been enough of a headache if it was entirely in English, but because a lot of it was also in my second language of Japanese, it was evermore dreadful. Instead of bothering to take notes, I spent most of the time experimenting with how far back in my chair I could lean before I heard an increase in breathing rate, or even better, an annoyed click of the mouth. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t very far. It was almost simultaneous with me moving at all.
After the bell rang, Momo linked her arm with mine and we walked down to the cafeteria together. As she spoke with me, pointing out the facts and insights that weren’t included on my official tour of the school, her tone had returned to friendly. She didn’t let go until we had to grab lunch trays in the massive cafeteria, where she led me through the line.
“Where should we sit?” I asked her after we’d gathered our food.
“My friends and I sit over here,” she said, nudging my arm and leaning her head towards the windows.
I knew that I shouldn’t mind that Momo had friends other than me, but I was slighted by it anyways. I had to remind myself that no matter what, we were each other’s favourites, and I had once had friends besides her too. At the very least, I was curious at who we would find there. She hadn’t told me much about this school or her life within it, mostly because I hadn’t been very easy to contact since she’d started here. The only friend of hers that I knew was me, and we were best friends by family and familiarity, not necessarily by choice.
When we got to the table that she was leading me to, I found that I recognized at least half of the people sitting there. At the further end, there was a frog looking girl, a brown-haired girl, and a tall boy in glasses. Momo took the open seat next to Todoroki Shoto, the Flame Hero Endeavor’s son, and Midoriya shuffled him and the brown-haired girl next to him down on the bench to make room for me on the other side of him. He looked excited, but everyone else gave me looks of uncertainty.
“I’m Stronghold Cassie,” I told them nicely. “It’s nice to meet you guys.”
“We’ve all just met you,” the frog girl croaked.
“They’re all in our class,” Momo said to me, giving them a pleading look. I swallowed my emotions towards that action as well.
“Oh, sorry,” I told them, trying to sound genuine. “There’s always lots of new people on the first day. What are your names again?”
They went around the table, reintroducing themselves, and I made my best effort to listen. Iida, like letter E, duh. Easy enough. Asui. Call her Tsu. Like Tsunami. Tsunamis are water. Frogs like water. I could remember that. Uraraka. Like, well, I didn’t know. That one I might have to hear a few times. Todoroki’s eyes flared with slight recognition as he reintroduced himself, as if he was just on the verge of figuring out where he knew me from, and I figured it was probably best if I just told him and apologized before got there on his own.
“You grew up in the states, huh?” He asked, still watching my face. “You look kind of familiar.”
“Her dad has been the number one hero there for over a decade,” Midoriya beamed. “She’s really famous there. Her family is incredible.”
“We’ve also met before,” I admitted, trying to keep a sweet smile on my face. “At the Biannual Hero Conference in Okha. We were eight. Small world, huh?”
“No,” he said softly, as if in disbelief.
“Princess America,” I said to him, patting a hand on my chest.
“That was you?” Todoroki asked, his smile dropping. “I had nightmares about you for weeks after that conference.”
“Well, that’s a compliment in its own way,” I joked with him. “I’m sorry about all that. I’m nicer now.”
“That was her?” Momo asked, her eyes glazing over with thought until they shifted to realization. “She’s who broke your nose at that conference?”
“She broke his nose?” The brown-haired girl asked Iida quietly at the other end of the table.
“All because I wouldn’t give up my popcorn. My dad yelled at you for over at hour,” Todoroki said, a small joking smile reappearing on his face. “He still talks about how much he hates your dad sometimes.”
“If it’s any consolation, my dad hated your dad way before that conference,” I joked back with him. “Pros have a way of turning everything into a pissing contest, don’t they?”
“Tell me about it,” he agreed. I was satisfied with that interaction. There was some cultural overlap there, after all.
“Miss Stronghold?” Midoriya asked from beside me.
“Cass is fine,” I told him.
“What’s your problem with Kacchan?”
“Do not get her started,” Momo pleaded him.
“Oh. No problem. You can call me that if you want,” I shrugged, smiling at him. These people were trusting, and I was satisfied with how readily they were willing to accept me. She may struggle making friends. Well, well, who’s laughing now? “I don’t mind.”
“Huh?” Midoriya asked.
“Oh my God,” Momo shook her head in amused laughter.
“What? Chan means like, friend, right?” I asked, looking around the table. “Cassie? Ca-chan?”
The table erupted into more laughter, but this time I felt much less in on the joke. Maybe I didn’t understand the rules here, and it intimidated me in a way I wanted to cut through like an opponent.
“Would you look at that?” Momo teased in her soft sarcasm, her face becoming her version of a gloat. “You and your nemesis can share a nickname.”
“Nemesis?” Iida asked, in a way that sounded like a scold. “You two just met.”
“Fuck off,” I told her, trying to sound joking, but it came out sounding harsh anyways at my sudden realization. I turned back to Midoriya and the rest of them, forcing a smile back on my face. “I just don’t like him is all. Call it intuition.”
“Call it not wanting to admit you were wrong.” Momo said under her breath.
“I wasn’t wrong,” I told her, raising my tone as much as she’d lowered hers. “I’m never wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Midoriya asked. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms across my chest.
“You got cocky, and you were wrong,” Momo continued. “You still won, and you’re still undefeated. I don’t know why you won’t let it go.”
“It had to be flawless,” I fought back. “It was flawless. I’ll prove it in quirk training.”
“Cass,” Momo said, her tone and expression suddenly shifting. “Just leave him alone.”
“No,” I told her back defiantly. “Not until I prove to you and my dad that I’m never wrong.”
Momo rolled her own eyes and crossed her arms too and she fell back into her chair. Nobody else bothered asking about our feud, and not too long after, a conversation of a different topic started up at the other end of the table that the others were roped in to. I half listened, but my mind lingered. I wasn’t wrong, not about this. I’m never wrong about things like this.
After lunch, we met back up in the classroom before quirk training. The rest of the students went over to the walls where large shelves slid out, exposing metal briefcases with large neon green numbers stenciled onto the sides. Nobody bothered to explain what was occurring to me, so I simply watched as each of the students grabbed one of the cases and left the room.
“Looks like this one is yours,” Momo said, placing a case with the number 20 into my hands.
“What are these?” I asked her.
“Our hero costumes,” she told me.
“Oh,” I said, taking it, wondering what may be in here. I hadn’t provided anything or heard anything about it.
After following her and the rest of the girls to the change room, I popped the case open. Inside, I found one of my training outfits, the same kind that I had various copies of in my dorm room closet, a thick strapped tank top and a pair of black shorts woven of the same strong fabric that my father had all our outfits made from. I smiled at the familiarity as I took off my uniform and pulled it on. I felt more like myself.
“Woah, Stronghold,” a pink skin and haired girl with large black eyes said as she looked me up and down. “That’s your hero costume?”
I looked down at my own body, not finding any rips or stains on my freshly washed athletic clothing. Then, I looked across the change room at this girl, noticing that her costume was covered with blue and pink swirls. Around me, all of the other girls, including Momo, were dressed like this, in bright colours with antennas and goggles and tech stuck to them. I didn’t know heroes past the age of ten actually dressed like this, especially to train.
“I wear sleeves and pants if I need more stealth,” I told her with a nonchalant shrug. “But less clothing is typically better for me. It gets in my way more than anything else.”
There were mirrors in the change room, so I was able to tie my own ponytail. I did as good as I could, but after she had gotten changed, Momo came over, swatted my hands away, and took my hair into her hands. She’d always been a lot better at it than I was. She apologized as she pulled on the knots, and I pretended to wince.
“Your costume is super hot,” I whispered to her jokingly as we passed through the door into the training gym.
“Stop,” she whispered back, nudging my arm.
I had to admit, I hadn’t seen a whole lot of her in her everyday life, because most of our in-person contact has been on family vacations with minimal supervision and minimal consequences, in foreign countries with many opportunities for me to talk her into doing things we perhaps, or definitely, shouldn’t. She was more serious here than I was used to. It was either going to take some time to break her out of her shell, or some time for me to get used to it. The former, if I had anything to do with it.
Everyone was gathered around Aizawa not far from where we entered. The boys were dressed in their costumes too, which were just as ridiculous as the girls’ were, and much to my delight, Bakugo fucking Katsuki was dressed stupider than anyone else. He had a mask even, with little pieces jutting out from his face that mimicked explosions and had large grenade looking attachments strapped to his forearms. After I was done getting a good look at him, I noticed that most of the boys were also looking at me, in that same confused way that the girls had been.
“That’s her hero costume?” Someone speculated.
“Maybe she doesn’t have one yet,” someone else whispered.
“She should. She’s some kind of big deal,” someone continued. “Isn’t that what Midoriya said?”
But no, I’d simply grown out of it. When I’d met Todoroki at eight years old, I’d been dressed in a dress with a flowy knee length skirt and a cape, patterned in red, white, and blue. I’d had a mask too. Even though I’d had the outfit, I would have never trained or fought in it. It was just for show. Once I’d started boarding school and being sent out on mission, the flashiness had no use. I preferred to wear all black, and later, my main costume alteration request was deeper pockets.
“Before we continue training ultimate moves,” Aizawa began as the last stragglers joined the group. “Stronghold will delight us with a demonstration of her abilities.”
The run through that I was expected to do was one that I’d done a number of times before, mostly for young children at the agency, and typically involved jumping from considerable heights onto cement and breaking swords on my skin or swallowing them. However, things were different at this school, and I still had something to prove, so I was going off script. I took a few steps from the group until I was standing in front of them, all decked out in their brightly coloured bodysuits with technical attachments, and held my hand out in Bakugo’s direction.
“Wanna dance?” I asked him teasingly. “If you still think you can take me on, that is.”
His glare intensified as the whispers and giggles started back up. His eyes told me that he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that offer, and there was hesitation. However, I knew egos like his well, and exactly how to toy with them.
“Is she serious?” someone asked.
“She’s got a death wish,” someone whispered.
“Go ahead man,” that same red head with the hair horns nudged him, which he promptly elbowed him back. “You can take her.”
“You’re not scared, are you?” I asked him. That got him moving.
“You’re the one who should be scared,” he told me, and his eyes told me that he genuinely believed that.
“This should be interesting,” Aizawa said with a sigh. “Stronghold, go easy on him.”
That comment triggered a smile on my own face and a new eruption of semi-stifled laughter from the rest of the classmates. I took the opportunity to look at Momo and make sure she was watching, which she was. However, she was also leaning into Todoroki and whispering with him the way she normally did with me at family functions.
“Kacchan versus Cacchan,” Todoroki whispered to her, which made her giggle with a hand placed lightly in front of her mouth.
That was fascinating in its own way, but I didn’t have time to speculate on that right now. There was a point to prove. I got to my starting point in the open space of the training gym, twenty or so feet across from Bakugo. My face began to crumple slightly with dissatisfaction as I looked at him in his costume. To prove my point, I needed this to be as close to sports festival conditions as possible.
“I’m not normally one to warn an opponent,” I called out to him. “But if you don’t take those stupid things off your arms, I’m going to do it for you.”
“I’ll keep them, thanks,” he scoffed back.
I nodded. “Suit yourself.”
He charged at me. That was no surprise. I’d learned from the sports festival that he had no qualms about making the first move. That didn’t bother me any. I dodged his blasts, as not to show any of my own cards, while I put in my own work to close the distance between us. After I did so, I was surprised to find that he didn’t give me a proper opening for a full three seconds. That was more skill that I was expecting. Still though, once I got one, I took it, and shoved a dense foot right into his left grenade, smashing it.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He yelled at me after examining the chunks of green metal, some of which were still clinging to his arm, and some of which had fallen to the floor.
“They’re in my way,” I told him casually. “I warned you.”
Without removing his cold glare from me, he walked over to near where the group was, slid the other grenade off, and placed it on the ground. I fought the urge to gloat about this small victory, which likely made him a little shakier. He made his way back to his original starting point, and wasted no time charging at me again, palms blazing.
Now that we were fighting for real, I would go easy on him. At the very least, I decided to let him lead, just like that redhead had largely done in his fight against him. I played for a while, dodging his explosions simply to see how difficult it was, but making no real effort to either increased not decrease the distance between us, letting him do as he pleased on that front. His frustration was growing at his inability to reach or phase me, and as much as I enjoyed the sight of that, I grew bored of this dance quickly.
“He’s going to be pissed,” that electric blonde said. Kaminari.
“He can’t even hit her,” that redhead said back to him, an air of worry in his words.
“This isn’t her normal fighting style,” Midoriya said. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he was scribbling into a notebook, watching this display intently. “She doesn’t have to dodge him. I think she’s just toying with him.”
I give credit where credit was due, and my dad was right. He was a smart kid. That was true. I was proving my point in this match. But now that I had done that, I could show off my normal fighting style, which was much more vicious and swift.
He was clearly not used to opponents charging back at him, because when I did, it took him off guard for the fraction of a second that I needed to hit the ground and slide on it, directly underneath him and through his legs, hooking a semi-dense elbow on one on my way through. By the time his stomach and forearms hit the ground, I’d managed to flip myself onto his back, and apply enough density into my knees to keep him pressed to the floor of the training gym. I was also able to lift his head and chest off the ground slightly via a grip on the back of his mask, which might also have been mostly hair, allowing him to face the reactions of his classmates as they witnessed his defeat.
“What the fuck?” he whispered, as if involuntarily.
“What was that?” I asked, leaning my ear in closer to his face. I increased my volume for the benefit of the class. “I completely overpowered you and you never stood a chance against me?”
“Fuck you,” he said, audible only to me. “You got lucky.”
“You’re probably right,” I lied. “Let’s go again.”
Only a few seconds after we’d gotten back to the original starting points and he’d charged again, I had him pinned underneath me, facing me this time, one dense knee pinning each of his palms. I wondered what was more uncomfortable: the cement of the training gym against his knuckles or my dense knees, which only got heavier each time he squirmed or sent explosions into them. I mocked a dramatic yawn, complete with a palm to my open mouth, and a brief rubbing of my eyes. The other classmates cracked up at this.
“Get off me!” He yelled.
“Make me. I’m not doing anything to you,” I challenged down at him. I lifted my hands innocently. He continued to struggle underneath me for a few seconds, until the display became too pitiful even for me to watch, let alone enjoy. “Tell you what, I feel a little bad, so I’ll give you one hand. Which one do you want?”
He wiggled one under my knee. I elected to ignore it.
“What was that?” I asked, cupping my hand to my ear.
“Left,” he hissed through his clenched jaw.
I raised my opposite knee, allowing him to slide out his right hand. His eyes flared with more furiousness at the realization of my trick, but he took his hand anyways. He held it out to me, mere inches from my face, pausing to look menacing.
“Get off of me,” he threatened, his hand beginning to spark. “Or you die.”
“Go ahead,” I challenged, pressing my cheek to his palm. “Let’s see what happens.”
To his credit, the blast, being largely anger fueled, was massive. I really drove my density into my knees and tucked them as close to his ribs as I could so that I wouldn’t be thrown back by the force of it. I even freed his other hand before I did so to avoid crushing and breaking it, a fact that I tucked into my back pocket to use as ammo for later. I just watched the orange force fade into black and grey clouds of smoke, and how it danced through the air as it settled. I didn’t mind explosions, actually. They were always interesting to watch, especially up close. When the air got clear enough, the first thing I saw was a red glare looking up at me, looking less angry now, irises flickering with the fear that had returned.
“That wasn’t too bad, actually,” I told him honestly, noticing that one of the straps on my shirt was just barely holding itself together, some of the fabric on it having been blown away. “You ripped my shirt a bit.”
“What are you?” Is what came out of his mouth.
“God,” I told him, lifting myself back onto my feet.
The laughter hadn’t stopped completely, but it erupted anew when Bakugo and his single grenade rejoined the group and I stood beside Aizawa, arms crossed. There were many looks of confusion or shock. Todoroki looked a little amused at the display, and beside him, Momo had a disapproving look on her face that she was loosely shaking back and forth. Midoriya was the only one who had a childlike gleam on his face, clutching his notebook so hard it was being indented, as if he’d just seen something incredible. That was an expression I was used to.
“Stronghold Cassie,” Aizawa announced to the class. “Her quirk is called Indestructibility. It manifests as impenetrable skin and bones that resist breakage.”
“Oh, just a warning,” I announced to everyone, cutting in. “I’m indestructible on the inside too. Some people try to go for my mouth, thinking they’re clever.”
“Did she just say?” Kaminari asked Mineta.
“Oh yeah,” the little purple thing confirmed. “How do you think she found that out?”
“It doesn’t really bother me, but,” I continued, placing a hand on my chest, near where my shirt had been shredded. “People tend to get embarrassed when it doesn’t hurt me, so you know, don’t.”
“I thought your quirk was called Invincibility,” Midoriya asked, raising his hand.
“That’s just what we tell the press,” I told him. I did mention that we were notorious liars, and the reason for this lie was simple: it sounded more impressive.
“Your bones resist breakage?” he asked, flipping his notebook back open. “But they can break?”
“I’ve never broken one.”
“And what about-“ Midoriya started again.
“Do you have an ultimate move?” The pink girl asked in an excited screech, cutting him off.
I shrugged. “Like any hero worth their salt, I adapt to my opponent.”
“Ultimate moves are what we call quirk specialization and differentiation,” Aizawa told me.
“Oh,” I said, silencing my anger at yet another thing that went over my head. “I can manipulate my body’s density.”
“Huh?” Kaminari said as he started looking to the people beside him for an explanation. Unfortunately for him, that red head beside him was confused as well, and Bakugo was still silent, his arms crossed, glaring at me.
“I can make my body heavier or lighter,” I said, lifting a palm to them. “All of it, or just some of it.”
“That’s basically an entire second quirk,” someone whispered. I couldn’t tell who, and I didn’t recognize the voice either. “She’s…”
“Intense, just like Yaoyorozu said.”
“Terrifying.”
“So cool,” Midoriya beamed.
“Anything else, you can ask her on your own time,” Aizawa said, tucking his clipboard under his arm. “Head to your stations and continue to work on your ultimate moves. Stronghold, you’re with me.”
The rest of the class began to scatter, some pairing off into groups and others heading off on their own, in various directions towards various domains in the training gym. I looked over to Aizawa’s ever-annoyed eyes and tired expression. I had exhausted and mastered quirk specialization and differentiation pretty early on in my life. I supposed I could spend my afternoons and evenings running calibration drills, and maybe I wouldn’t get too slow or out of practice.
“What should I work on, teach?” I asked with innocent eyes and only moderate condescension.
“I have decided to utilize your expertise, actually.” Aizawa told me, catching me off guard.
He’d been vehemently opposed to having me train my own classmates when my father had suggested it. I wondered what changed his mind. I figured it was likely inappropriate to ask, and since I was still in such a good mood from proving myself right, I didn’t.
“Let’s make our rounds,” he said, starting to walk off towards some of the commotion that was starting further off in the training gym. “Now that everyone knows what your abilities are, let’s get you knowing what they can do.”
“They’re just learning quirk specialization and differentiation, huh?” I asked him.
“Don’t patronize them for being beginners, Stronghold.” His tone was colder than normal. Before I could tell him that I wouldn’t, and that it hadn’t been what I was doing during my demonstration, he started to speak again. “Don’t underestimate them, either. Some of them may surprise you.”
I followed him silently, deciding that this was a fight not worth picking and a point not worth defending. If he wanted to believe me some spoiled, trouble making brat, I would let him. It was not necessarily a wrong opinion to hold of me. However, causing problems and being sharp tongued for my own amusement were behaviours I indulged in exclusively on my own time. I took training, both my own and coaching others, extremely seriously. Aizawa would figure that out for himself sooner or later.