#part 3

One project that came to light when the war was over and the organization was stripped to its bones and restructured, was that they'd been stealing DNA samples from hero students with exceptional quirks and making lab babies, trying to curate a lab grown next generation of heroes.

(Rooftop gang family? Erasermic baby - attempt at voice activated erasure. Erasernight baby - attempt at pheromone activated erasure.)

(Hawks baby - other parent ??? ((maybe just a clone?)) )

That is how members of class a discover that they are *technically* teen parents.

(DNA stolen early on before they knew anything about OFA and assumed Deku had a strength based energy stockpiling quirk - maybe after blackwhip and thinking the stockpiled energy could be manifested into more than just strength?)

(No Todorokis)

.

"Illegal genetic experimentation?" Denki read slowly as he skimmed the file. "Stolen DNA? Quirks combined? Induced singularity?"

"So like the nomus?" Kirishima asked, eyes wide.

"Oh my god, they gave our quirks to nomus?!" Ashdio screeched.

Tsukauchi sighed and shifted uncomfortably.

"Not... exactly."

Katsuki's eye twitched.

"Then what exactly is it like?" he snapped.

“You’re not usually… you don't…” he stutters, hand clutching at one of the furs draped over his shoulder, “You’re outside tonight.” 

Nari nods, still nearly pressed against the wall; she hadn't thought he would be here in the gallery, let alone here in front of her painting. She had half a mind to retreat back into her canvas and slip into the narrow passageways that the stage wings offered to hide away from viewers. 

But some paintings could enter the canvases of others, and Nari didn't feel like trying to run with how her ankle was. Besides, he seemed more surprised than anything else. 

Nari shook her head lightly to rid herself of the odd heavy feeling in her chest; the gossip of the other dancers was getting to her. Whispers of him being a Mob Boss’s portrait, of him being painted with blood, of demonic symbols being etched onto the back of his canvas. 

None of it was likely to be true, the scarier looking paintings always got that bad reputation. Nari herself was rumoured to be possessed as she hardly ever left her stage. 

“You usually… you’re usually dancing.” He states it as if it needed to be stated, his hands still gripping at his own clothes. Was he scared of her? Or simply shocked that she would leave her painting? 

“I leave when I want to.” She murmurs with a soft shrug. She would leave the hall to go wander about the gallery and find a good seat, but he was standing in the way of her only way in or out of the area. 

“Would you like to walk with me?” he asks suddenly, offering his hand to her. He jolts it back, brushing the fur he had ripped from his clothes off of it before holding it back out to her. 

His eyes were wide and a touch wild, his smile shaky but true, his hand trembled for the briefest of moments when Nari finally took it, before it stilled and wrapped itself firmly around her own. 

“I wouldn't mind.” She answers softly as she gives him her own hand. Dwarfed by the size of his. He was larger than her, perhaps two heads taller and much broader. Not that that was unusual; portraits were often the sole subject of their work and thus were rendered larger and were bigger when outside of their paintings, especially when compared to large groups such as Nari’s dancing troupe. The ballerinas were the focus of the painting, but they were further back in the composition and shared the large canvas with both each other and the large audience that surrounded them; they were smaller and leaner as a result of this when outside of their canvas. 

He guides her through the hallway and down away from where the portraits hang, instead leading her through the main section of the building towards the sculptures. 

They say nothing as he pulls her along, and she half wishes he would stop for a moment to let her sit or let her walk along at her own pace. Between her ankle and the height he had no her he was much faster than she was walking. 

When they finally reach the sculpture section, she slips her hand from his and sits on one of the benches that looks over the large room. Most of the pieces have left for the night, wandering about on their own, but the pedestals and glass cases where they sit during the day remain. 

He sits beside her after a moment, having been staring into the glass of one of the nearby cases and correcting the hang of the furs over his shoulder and the tip of his fur cap. 

“Your fellow dancers said you do not leave the painting often.” He murmurs after a moment, deep red eyes watching her openly. His face was less ashamed than his words were apparently, for he was obvious with his stares. 

“I don't see the need to.” She responded, leaning her head back onto the cool stone of the wall and watching the grand empty space before her. 

Were her ankle not injured, she would take advantage of it and dance. There was plenty of room for her to run through an outline or two without crashing into anything; the lights were bright, the stone of the floor smooth and well worn. 

“They told me something similar.” He nods, almost as if to himself. “So why leave tonight?” Nari can almost fool herself into hearing a trace of something hopeful in his tone. 

“There's no point in waiting in the picture if I can't dance.” She tells him simply, lifting gently, stretching her leg out before her. The ankle was still bent at an angle it should not be, a jut sticking out from it that was not there that can be seen through the pale pink of her tights. “It will heal shortly, but not if I dance on it every night.” 

He makes a choked noise, head whipping from her obviously broken limb to the entrance they just came through. The sculpture section was on the other side of the building from where Nari’s painting hung, a long walk. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't know-” he begins, hand reaching out to check on her ankle.

“It doesn't hurt.” She blinks at the action, watching as he slips to his knees on the floor before looking it over. Pressing gently at the jut through her tights and testing the give of the incorrect bend. “We don't feel pain.” 

“We do, just not the same as the viewers do.” He scoffs, “At the very least, walking must be uncomfortable.” 

No worse than standing on that one foot on pointe all day, Nari thinks to herself. She would be glad when it was healed and done with. 

“It won't heal quickly like this; you need to correct it,” he tells her at last, having thoroughly checked over her injury. “Bit on this.”

He passes her his glove, one that had been tucked into his breast pocket. 

“Correct it?” 

“I'll need to snap your foot back to a proper angle and then pop your joint back into place; otherwise it won't heal.” He sounds so sure of himself that Nari just nods, taking his glove and setting it between her teeth. 

She hears the crack of his motions and sees a blinding white light right after it, more than she feels anything. 

When the light fades, he has laid her on the side and sits on the floor next to the bench, watching her with a worried expression. 

“Can you switch which leg you stand on?” he asks, referring to the pose she holds all throughout the opening. 

She can't; they both know that. Paintings don't change; Nari will stand on the same leg she has stood on since she was first painted. 

You shoved a bite of rice into your mouth, chewing in record time, but Wasuke-jiisan had other plans. He set his chopsticks across his bowl, leaned back, and cleared his throat with the heavy, unhurried air of an elder about to hold court. Since he’d basically raised you alongside Yuji, he had zero filters around you.

"So," Jiisan started, his sharp eyes pinning you down across the low table. "High school, huh? How are the classes? Finding any hobbies that don't involve trailing behind Yuji like a stray dog?"

"Classes are fine, Jiisan," you muttered quickly, keeping your eyes glued to your grilled salmon. "Clubs are fine too."

"Uh-huh. What about a boyfriend? Any decent boys in your grade, or are they all as brainless as this one?" He flicked a wooden chopstick in Yuji's direction.

You almost choked on a grain of rice. "B-Boyfriend? No! Absolutely not. I'm focusing on my studies!"

Across the table, Yuji stopped mid-chew. A terrifying, mischievous grin slowly spread across his face.

"Boyfriend?" Yuji snorted, slapping his knee so hard the soup bowls rattled. "Grandpa, please! She’s taking a vow of celibacy like a literal nun! I don't think she's even held a guy's hand, let alone had her first kiss. Her love life is completely dead on arrival!"

Your head snapped up, face instantly ablaze. "Hey! Shut up, Yuji! The kettle is calling the pot black! When was the last time *you* went on a date, huh?!"

"Hey, at least I don't run away blushing every time a guy speaks to me!" Yuji wheezed, pointing an accusing chopstick at you. "You're a total virgin-for-life and you know it!"

"Yuji, don't tease her," Choso’s low, steady voice cut through the chaos.

He hadn't raised his voice, but the quiet authority in it immediately subdued Yuji, who slunk back down into his seat with a half-hearted mutter.

Choso set his chopsticks down softly, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes fixing directly on you across the small table. "There's nothing wrong with taking your time. Focus on what matters to you."

It was meant to be kind. It was meant to defend you.

It utterly destroyed what little was left of your soul.

You sat frozen, staring blankly at your lap under the table, your hands clenching into tiny fists against your knees. *Choso just heard Yuji declare to the entire room that I'm an inexperienced, awkward virgin who acts like a nun.*

Your dignity hadn't just taken a hit; Yuji had tied an anchor to it and hurled it straight to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. You couldn't look up. If you looked up and made eye contact with Choso right now, you were pretty sure you would physically dissolve into a puddle of pure, unadulterated humiliation right on the tatami mat.

"I'm... full," you squeaked, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't even dare to raise your head as you hastily stacked your bowl and stood up. "Thank you for the meal, Jiisan. I'll go set up my futon now."

Yesterday i saw a post of a peak art showing a possible encounter between agent choi and Soleum (i was half sleep at the time and cabt fibd it anymore😭😭), and it was an enraged Choi, telling Sol he wouldnt belive in a fake, since the real Sol is home.

It got me thinking, and i feel like the encounter between those two will likely reveal quite a bit about Sol's body state here. Choi can identify people based on their veins, if Sol's veins reveal to be diferent than it was, that would mean hes simply "possesing" the body of a cult member that was like him(maybe an case a bit like the heewon brothers);