Chapter Text
This is what it’s like to be Yamada Hoshi: you know you shouldn’t exist. And that’s the salt in the wound. It’s not enough for life to deal you a bad hand, no. You have to know you shouldn’t be at the table in the first place. Your chips had been cashed, you weren’t ready but were comfortable with it. And then someone wrangles you to the table and sits you down again.
Then you spend five years figuring out the new rules, only for it to turn out useless. Turns out, you aren’t even supposed to play the game at all. Just take the cards and fold when the world tells you to.
But you don’t fold. And the world hates you for it. You keep going.
You get shunted around, table after table of the same game. You learn the rules and you blend in, sometimes. But then someone asks you to fold and you can’t. And you’re sent away again.
Nine years and twelve homes later, you find a way out. It’s risky and a loophole and something no one like you has done before. You reach for it with both hands, hungrily grabbing, stretching out.
But you don’t hear back.
You’re abandoned in the girls’ showers at school, cold water piercing through your uniform into your flesh. The other players want you to fold. You carefully stand up again.
Shouta was never betting with teaching duties again. It was the only reason anyone would be able to have him reach out to the one student who hadn’t responded to the admission letter. Instead, Nemuri was enjoying a spa day and he was sitting across from a set of foster parents as they tried to lie about their charge having moved.
Said lie fell apart when he felt someone come up behind him. He turned to face the teenager who was presumably Yamada.
Height: approximately 150 cm. Shoulder-length black hair similar in texture to his own, pulled into a ponytail. Skin pale, unhealthily so. Narrow build. Middle school uniform with a skirt. Something on the wrist, almost skin tone — hiding a birthmark or scar most likely.
Dark eyes flickered briefly over the scene and she sketched a polite bow. “I apologize for the intrusion. I didn’t realize you had a guest.” Her voice had a slight rasp to it.
“Aizawa Shouta, I teach at Yuuei.”
“Yamada Hoshi, pleased to meet you.” She bowed again. “Are you here about my exam results?”
Her foster parents stiffened and Shouta had a hunch why. “I wanted to discuss the details of your acceptance.”
A small frown appeared. “I thought I’d filled out the paperwork correctly, was there anything that I need to redo?”
“Not in the initial application, but there was some follow up that was sent in your acceptance letter.” Out of the corner of his eye, her foster parents were exchanging looks.
“Acceptance letter?” There it was. They flinched and Yamada’s eyes flickered sharply. “Ah.” Her face shifts between micro-expressions before settling back to its cool neutrality. “Is it alright if I eat while we speak?”
“It’ll be more efficient,” he said.
Yamada grabbed a smoothie pouch out of the fridge, mango from the label, and sat next to him. “What do you need?”
He took the forms out of his briefcase and spread them out of the table. “The M.H.L.W. has agreed to transfer your legal guardianship to Yuuei as long as you’re enrolled, so you’ll need to sign here, here, and here to agree.” While she read and signed, he continued, “The school has a contract with some apartment buildings nearby to provide below-market rentals for students and a few staff members have foster licenses, so your living arrangements are up to you.”
She gnawed on the spout of her pouch. “How does that work, legally speaking?”
“Your homeroom teacher is considered in loco parentis regardless of your pick. The main difference is your living stipend goes to you directly if you live by yourself, whereas it will go to your foster parent if you choose that.”
“Sweetie,” the foster mother said, reaching out. Yamada froze under the manicured nails that touched her forearm, the one with the wrist band. She slowly put down the pouch as the woman continued, “What does Aizawa-sensei mean when he says you asked to transfer guardianship?”
“I should think it quite obvious,” Shouta cut in.
Quietly, Yamada added, “I figured it would be easier if I moved to Mustafa.” She pulled her arm away.
The hand on it tightened, tendons popping out. “Sweetie, we could work something out.”
“You hid my acceptance letter,” she said in the same quiet tone, before dismissing her to focus on Shouta. “Are the apartments single-person or could I have a roommate?”
To confirm his hunch, he said, “Single-person.”
She nodded. “Which is for fostering?”
He slid it over. She read through.
“Sweetie,” the foster mother tried again.
“I saw the consent forms for the surgery,” Yamada said, not looking up from the form.
Another flinch. “Dear,” the mother said, her tone forcibly even, “could I speak with you in the other room?”
“Forgive our rudeness, Aizawa-sensei.” The father stood up and bowed, nervous sweat accumulating on his brow.
The kitchen was quiet when they left, Yamada focusing on the forms and Shouta listening to the fridge buzz. “Surgery?” he asked.
Yamada took another gulp of smoothie. “It’s a long story,” she said.
“You’ll have to summarize for your school work,” he prodded.
She signed the form, pen scratching. “I asked for a diagnostic surgery and they signed me up for a hysterectomy.”
Rage bubbled up and Shouta sighed to release it. He couldn’t push so soon after getting the admission. “Only logical to leave after that.”
She nodded. “Anything else?”
He slid the papers back into the briefcase. “No. Go get packed.”
“Yes sensei.” She smiled, a soft, small thing and left.
He leaned back into his chair to think about his schedule. Unfortunately, she’d need to have one of his specialized classes as an extracurricular for him to ensure she’s living up to her potential. He pulled out his phone to check on Hizashi.
By the time it’s back in his pocket, Yamada is back. Her battered schoolbag is slung over one shoulder, two black garbage bags tied together over the other.
He stood up, shoving his hands into his suit pocket. “Ready?”
“—ve been parents to a Yuuei graduate!” echoed from upstairs.
Yamada pulled her hair out of the ponytail and left the elastic on the table. “Yeah.” Her steps were silent as they headed to the door. She slipped on a pair of red sneakers.
“House key?” Shouta asked.
“Don’t have one,” she said.
He sighed. “Of course you don’t.” She opened her mouth, but it wouldn’t reassure him. “We’re meeting my husband at the train station. This way.” He left.
She quickly caught up, trotting next to him. They walked in silence for a few moments. He took off his tie, coiling it up and stuffing it into his pocket.
“Why support?” he asked.
“I like building things,” she said simply. She kept her posture loose as she walked. “It makes me happy and I want to help people. My practical exam was, um—” She scratched the back of her neck, looking to the ground. “—something I wanted to make since I was a kid.”
“Hey Shouta!” Hizashi came out of the crowd to wrap an arm over his shoulder. “Is this the little listener you were telling me about?” He grinned down at her.
“I told you the train station,” Shouta said.
“Yamada Hoshi, pleased to meet you.” She bowed.
“Well, what do you know? I’m Yamada Hizashi.” He held out his hand. “Maybe we’re related.”
Her smile flickered, but she shook his hand. “You’re Present Mic, right? Love the show, especially throwback hours.”
“Glad to hear it, little listener!” He let go of Shouta to walk on her other side. “More of a fan of the retro style, huh? I dig it, I dig it.”
“You teach at Yuuei too, right? What classes?”
“That's right! Your local radio hero here rocks out at English classroom, and Shouta there—”
“Homeroom teacher for the Heroics Department. Occasionally I’ll teach Ethical Philosophy, when there’s a demand.”
Her smile quirked into something brighter. “So if I say ‘Trolley Problem’...”
“Save the greater number of people, sue the trolley company for gross negligence.”
She snorted. “You didn’t even hesitate!” She tilted her head to the side “Have you ever seen The Good Place ?”
“Name rings a bell,” he admitted.
“It’s an American sitcom from the 2010s. It’s about this woman who dies and finds herself in The Good Place, but she wasn’t a good person so she has to learn how to be one to fit in. It does a good job of teaching a lot of basic philosophical elements.”
“ Hey, hey, hey! Do you like English shows? " Hizashi asked in the language.
Yamada grinned. “ I like a lot of English media. I’ve actually listened to a bunch of English audio dramas during my commute. ” Good accent, although not one he was familiar with.
“I’ll get the tickets,” Shouta said, leaving Hizashi to pull the girl out of her shell.
“Your daughter is adorable,” the person behind him in line said. Shouta grunted. An explanation would’ve been too long.
By the time he got back, Yamada was chattering with Hizashi about the themes of some writer. Shouta only kept a conversational level of English, so most of the nuances went over his head. She was grinning broadly as she spoke with unerring fluency.
Hizashi made eye contact with him over her head and pouted. Shouta rolled his eyes but gave a small nod. He lit up and turned his attention back to their new charge.
Yamada — until she lets them use her first name; she’s not used to boundaries being respected — followed his gaze and waved at him. He nodded back, slouching over to them and handing out the tickets. “We’re getting off at Mustafa station,” he told her.
“Gotcha.” She grinned, a bright expression that made him wish his goggles were tinted. Between Hizashi and Yamada, he’s going to get a migraine.
So, apparently she wasn’t in the canon universe. At least, not one completely canon. Hoshi was reasonably sure she’d have heard tumblr explode if EraserMic was actually canon. She hoped she wasn’t in a dark!fic. She already had an angst-filled backstory, she wanted that chapter over.
She was also 89% certain Yamada-sensei was messing with everyone when he used that DJ talk. The gleam when he used out-dated slang was familiar.
Their apartment was utilitarian. The couch was clearly picked for its comfort over its colour, the TV wasn't the fanciest thing on the market, the only glimpses of personality were the cat trees and the fancy stereo system. One living room, one bathroom with a shower and a tub, two bedrooms, and a skeletal kitchen with exactly five of every dishware, cutlery piece, and cup.
The guest room had a daybed and a cluttered desk that Yamada-sensei quickly cleared off at Aizawa-sensei's glare.
"So how long am I staying here until I move into my foster's?" she asked, shifting through her school bag to reorganize her books.
"You didn't tell her?" Yamada-sensei hollered.
"I was going to on our way to the train station," Aizawa-sensei said. "Lights out at 11, don't feed the cats, clean up after yourself."
Hoshi blinked to reorient herself. "Sure." The day had already been so goddamn weird. “I’m just gonna unpack and crash then.”
“Sounds like a plan, listener!” Yamada-sensei flashed a thumbs up. Something soft brushed against her ankle. He said something else, but it may as well have been Charlie Brown adult noises.
Cat.
Grey tabby cat, with bright green eyes and a little baby face and the triangle ears.
She snapped back to awareness rubbing its face “—ttle handsome fellow, yes you are, how are you the most perfect cat I’ve ever seen, just a little tiger, yes you are!” Someone was laughing at her. Tabby kitty’s fur was so soft and it was purring so much. She scooped it up and cradled it against her stomach, cooing praises all the while.
“Good, you’re not allergic,” Aizawa-sensei said flatly. A long-haired grey cat wound it’s way into her room and mrrowed loudly.
"No you don't," Yamada-sensei said, picking it up and putting it against his chest. "Let your brother have some attention too."
It mrrowed again, pushing his face with its paw.
“The one in your lap is Tora, the other is Bastard,” Aizawa-sensei said.
Yamada-sensei gasped. “Shouta! Don’t be mean to Fuku-san.” Fuku-san mrrowed and mashed his face further.
Tora wriggled in Hoshi’s lap and she let him go. He quickly disappeared back into the apartment.
“We’ll let you unpack,” Aizawa-sensei said, sliding the door shut. There was another mrrow, followed by a thud.
She snickered before turning to her new bedroom. It was painted a warm beige, with the daybed against the wall, a small dresser next to it, and the desk on the adjacent wall. It was all a dark colour. It smelled faintly of ink and stale air.
The dresser drawers were empty, so she put her clothes in them. There were still two left empty, which she put her project shoeboxes into. She put her books on the desk in a stack. Her hand rested on it for a moment, remembering once upon a life when she’d had multiple bookshelves full.
Still, they were just books in the end. She was able to read more on her phone anyway. It was fine. Just fine.
She changed out of her uniform into comfy clothes and grabbed one of her library books and a notebook. Tucking a pen behind her ear, she went to the living room and curled up against an arm of the couch. She puzzled her way through a chapter of the history book and took notes of the particularly important bits. Aizawa-sensei shuffled into the room and mirrored her position. Yamada-sensei joined soon after, collapsing into the middle and leaning against his husband. She shifted to be parallel to the couch back and uncurled a little bit, toes edging over her cushion into the middle. They stayed like that until her yawns became too frequent to ignore.
She shuffled to bed as they spoke in low voices about Aizawa-sensei's patrol for the night.
She left the door to her bedroom open a bit and Fuku-san slipped into her room, curling up around her face and getting floof in her nose.
The next morning, Hoshi woke up to something chewing on her hair and a weight on her knees. She wrinkled her nose and pulled her head forward. Something kept her hair in place.
A voice drifted through the open door. "Where are they?"
"Mehurgh," she moaned.
Her door slid open and a blurry figure entered. "Tora, leave the listener alone," Yamada-sensei said, laughter in his tone. The weight on her hair disappeared. She pulled the blankets up higher, prompting a complaint from Fuku-san. “C’mon listeners, who’s ready to start the day right? We’re kicking it off with a big old helping of food, directly into the puzzle feeder! Can I get a ‘Yeah?’”
“Mrrow,” Fuku-san said.
“Mew,” Tora said.
“Yergh,” Hoshi groaned.
“That’s what I like to hear!” Yamada-sensei said as he left the room.
She screwed her eyes tighter and burrowed further into her warm, warm blankets. Her bed was near the window, so the cold February air leaked in from the outside, dampening any enthusiasm to leave she may have had to emerge.
A dull ache radiated from her abdomen. She sighed and rolled out of bed. Ibuprofen was not fun on an empty stomach, so breakfast was a must.
She stumbled out of bed and pulled on her teal wool sweater and socks. Shuffling to the kitchen, she curled up at the table as Yamada-sensei served her breakfast. She stared at her plate as the omurice smiled ketchupily at her until another mini flare of pain told her to get moving.
The eggs were fluffy, folding around a mixed veggie and green onion filling. She snuck out the bits of cooked carrot, piling them near the edge of her plate.
“Shouta’s catching a quick cat nap before school today,” Yamada-sensei said. “He mentioned you’d be switching to online learning, have you handed in the paperwork yet?”
She shook her head. “Didn’t have a chance.” Another flare made her wince, the dull ache throbbing down her legs. “I can drop it off on Monday.”
He frowned, leaning against the table. “You alright there?”
“I’ll be fine,” she smiled weakly. “Just need some painkillers."
His eyes widened. "Painkillers?" he yelped.
She waved her hands in a settle down gesture. "My period's probably starting in a few days. It happens all the ti-" another flare, this one stronger than the others and when it dies down, the ache remains clustered along her hip bones. Her voice caught and she made another attempt, "time. With ibuprofen and a hot pack, I can ride it out."
His expression shuttered down, leaving Hoshi to wonder where she went wrong. He leaned forward, forearms digging into the table.
She leaned back in her chair, an instinct she kicked herself for the moment she moved.
Something flickered behind his eyes and he rightened. "Why don't you go get those painkillers now?" he asked jovially.
"Um," she blinked to adjust. "Sure."
She went and grabbed her prescription grade ibuprofen from her room. Coming back to the table, she downed 800mg and chased it with the cooked carrots. She wasn't sure which one was worse, the bitter pills or the mushy vegetables. In any case, she had a bite of omurice left to erase the flavour. She then nursed her tea.
Yamada-sensei pulled out his phone as she did. His thumbs actually blurred a bit as he texted, which she didn’t think was possible in real life. He straightened up and tucked his phone away, grinning.
She eyed him over another sip of tea. It was bitter in a way she didn’t have the taste buds to truly appreciate, but the scent did remind her of one of the better homes she’d stayed in.
“Do you have a hot pack, kiddo?” he asked. He had a casual set to his shoulders that didn’t match the one from last night.
She nodded. “In my room.”
“Oh, that reminds me. Did you want to go shopping tomorrow to pick up some stuff for your room?” He tapped his fingers against the table. “I’d offer to take you today, but, well…”
“I might be up for it later,” she said, shrugging a shoulder. “Depends on if I get a foggy brain or not.” She paused and frowned. “What do I need for my room?”
“I figured you’d want new sheets, a poster or two, a better pillow. Basic stuff like that.”
She swirled her tea. "Could I get some clothes too? Some of my stuff is getting too threadbare."
He grinned. "For sure listener!" He pulled his phone out again. "Shouta doesn't like shopping but I'll see if Nemuri is free."
"Sounds like a plan." She smiled.
"Ah, but she'll be Kayama-sensei to you, Yamada."
Ignoring the flicker of negative emotion that came with her last name, she asked, "What does she teach?"
"Modern hero art."
She hummed. "Is she a Pro like you two?"
He pointed at her. " You've got it! You may know her as the R-18 Hero: Midnight. Her Quirk, Somnambulist, lets her emit a gas from her skin. If you inhale it, it's lights out !"
Giggling at the exposition, she said, "I know what Midnight's Quirk is." She leaned onto the table. "Actually, would it work through a sheer fabric like nylon? Or does her skin need to be completely exposed?"
" Great question ! Why don't you call it in when she's live on air later today?"
"That means he doesn't know," Aizawa-sensei said dryly. He had a duvet wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak as he shuffled to the table and curled into a chair. "Morning."
"Morning," she said. "How was your patrol?"
He let his head thump against the table and let out a sigh.
"That means it was a busy night and he has a lot of paperwork to catch up on," Yamada-sensei said.
She snickered.
Something whirled outside the kitchen window and tapped at the glass. Yamada-sensei straightened up and opened it.
A drone flew on and deposited an envelope onto the table. Tora appeared from the living room, staring at it and chittering. His tail flicked through the air enthusiastically. It beeped and flew away.
Yamada-sensei closed the window and nodded to the envelope. "Go on, open it."
She raised an eyebrow at him but followed his instructions. There was a plastic card about the size of the palm of her hand and a note that said 'Enjoy' with a little doodle of a fox/mouse creature.
The plastic card somehow had a picture of her on it and the kanji for 'Visitor' underneath it.
"You know Tora and Fuku-san are top of the charts for amazing cats, but their comfort skills are so-so,” Yamada-sensei said. “Instead, I thought you could have a behind the scenes tour at Yuuei and kick it with Recovery Girl.” He winked. “As a sneak preview for next month.”
Excitement churned in her gut. “Sure!” She stood up and put away her dishes. “I’ll go get dressed.”
Aizawa-sensei said something as she headed back to her room and Yamada-sensei replied.
She didn’t have a Yuuei uniform yet, and the skirt on her middle school uniform dug into her abdomen painfully. Black leggings and a black tank top it was. She shimmed back into her coziest (and only) sweater and pulled her hair into a half bun. Quickly emptying her school bag, she refilled it with the essentials, plus her laptop, hot pack, and a book.
She detoured to the bathroom to put on a pad and freshen up. Then, she met up with Yamada-sensei and Aizawa-sensei. The black-haired man was consuming a smoothie pouch with vampiric speed, and had a jelly pouch sticking out of his pocket.
While he still had a freshly out of bed look, Yamada-sensei had changed into his uniform and gelled his blonde hair into it's signature banana shape.
She ran her fingers along the worn strap of her book bag and smiled. "Ready!"
"Tora, Fuku-san, we'll be back soon. Tora's the boss today," Yamada-sensei said.
Fuku-san mrrowed in protest. Yamada-sensei ignored him to lock the door.
They took the train to school, Aizawa-sensei pulling her to sit next to him a few rows down from Yamada-sensei. A group of tourists got on at the next stop and swarmed him, asking for autographs and selfies.
She leaned against Aizawa-sensei slightly and thanked him quietly. He grunted back.
They were only a stop away, but Yuuei had been intentionally placed as far from transit options as possible, ostensibly to give students extra opportunities to work out.
When they arrived, Yamada-sensei peeled away from their group to prepare for his first class.
Yuuei's hallways were spacious and well-lit, the white tiled floor sparkling in the early morning sunlight. There was a faint whiff of ink and sweat and while classes wouldn't start for another hour, faint murmurs echoed from homeroom doors.
"The nurse's office is on the ground floor by the gym and outdoor arenas," Aizawa-sensei said. "The lunchroom is on this floor too, so don't go climbing any staircases. The principal gave you special access, which means you can't wander around on your own. Got that?"
"Yes sir." Hoshi nodded.
He stopped at a large door with a red cross on it. "Myself or Hizashi will pick you up at the end of the day."
She nodded and waved to him as she pushed open the door.
The nurses office smelled of rubbing alcohol and lemon candy. White partitions hung between two hospital beds, all made with white sheets. There were charts of the different bodily functions on the walls and a single computer at a desk, where a tiny, grey-haired woman sat.
"Pardon the intrusion," Hoshi said and bowed. "My name is Yamada Hoshi and I'll be in your care today."
Recovery Girl hopped off her chair and grabbed a cane like a syringe. Her lab coat pooled around her as she came forward. "Nezu told me you'd be here today, but he didn't mention why."
She ran her fingers along her bag straps. "Um, Yamada-sensei was worried about me being home alone during a pain flare. I think," she added.
Recovery Girl tapped her cane on the floor. "That sounds like him." She grabbed her hand and led her to a bed, which she lowered. "How long have you been having pain flares?"
Hoshi sat on the bed, the motion causing a twinge of pain until she lay back. She counted back on her fingers. The flares had started with her period, when she lived with the Togas. That had been her seventh foster home. "Three years ago." she concluded. "More or less."
Recovery Girl hummed. "I'd like to try my Quirk on you to see if that helps. Are you alright with me doing that?"
"Yes sensei," she said. "I'm not sure if it'll help though."
She leaned back. "Now what makes you say that, Yamada-chan?"
"Please call me Hoshi," she said, a sentence that had been bubbling up the whole morning. "And your Quirk only heals injuries, right?”
“Now how did you come to that conclusion?” Recovery Girl pulled the cloth partitions shut.
Shifting on the bed, Hoshi ticked off her reasoning on her fingers. “Your profile on the Yuuei website lists your MD residency at Manudoloru, which is known for their trauma unit. Your public hospital visits consistently have busy physio or surgical units and your publicity team would be shouting from the rooftops if you had the actual cure for cancer.” She folded her hands together and looked over.
“Well reasoned,” Recovery Girl said. She puckered up and gave her a wet kiss on the forehead. “Feeling better?”
Hoshi shook her head. “Thanks for trying anyway, ma’am.”
She smiled sadly. “I’ll get you an electric heating pad.” Her cane tapped against the tile as she walked away.
She stared at the ceiling, drumming her thumbs against her chest and letting her mind off its leash to wander. It'd been about an hour since breakfast, so in another she'd take acetaminophen so that it could overlap with the ibuprofen. Ideally, it would take the edge off and leave her pain free.
She needed to update the RSG discord server about her move. Maybe she could add some pictures of Tora and Fuku-san to sweeten the sting. They shared grey fur and yellow-green eyes, even if Tora was the perfect tabby and Fuku-san had a more regal bearing with his bulk and floofy fur. That image did fall apart when she saw him roll off the cat tree last night and stare at the ground, confused as to how it got there. Living with cats was new for this life and she was excited for it.
The heating pad Recovery Girl brought back was about 40cm square, with a yellow flannel cover. She plugged it in and passed Hoshi the remote. "Do you want me to put the bed in a seating position?"
"Maybe not completely upright," Hoshi said. "Pressure on my abdomen increases the pain." She pushed up her sweater to lay the pad over her hips and turned it on.
Recovery Girl hummed and raised the head of the bed to a 60 degree angle. "How's that?"
"Good," she said.
She smiled. "Lovely. I'm familiarizing myself with the medical records from our first year students. Let me know if you need anything, alright dearie?"
"Um, actually." She fidgeted with her bag straps. "Do you have a table or a tray I could use?"
"I should, somewhere around here," she murmured and wandered off. Louder, she said, "Here it is." Wheeling over a small table with a single post to support it, she set it up over Hoshi. "Don't strain yourself now."
"I know my limits," Hoshi said bemusedly, pulling her laptop from her bag.
Recovery Girl snorted. "You'd be the first in this school who does."
" Hero, save thyself ," she muttered. With one hand, she cranked up the heat on her pad. Using the other, she pulled up the literature essay she needed to edit.
After ten minutes spent reading and re-reading the same sentence, she gave up and pulled out her headphones. She queued up Ted Lasso and settled into the bed, spinning her pen over her fingers as she re-watched the show.
Outside her partition, people came and went. Some of them asked about the giggles that came from her little corner of the office and Recovery Girl brushed them off.
A little while after taking the acetaminophen, she'd dropped the volume on her show and relaxed into the warmth surrounding her. She was nodding off when the partition curtains were yanked open. Wide eyes met wide eyes as a small group of students stared back at her.