Something Like a Star (B. Katsuki)

Two: Enter Nadoka

     The marketplace soothed her.

Living on the outskirts of the city, away from the hustle and bustle of moving cars and crowded sidewalks, made it easier. Nadoka was contented, and enjoyed her small, homely farmer's market greatly.

She frequented the area, drawn not only to her general love of the peaceful atmosphere and the soft bubble of exchanging buyers and sellers, but also to the immense generosity of the various stands. Prices were almost always reasonable if not sympathetic, and the food she bought from there tended to be more natural and healthy than its supermarket-bought counterparts.

She also loved that the market never seemed overcrowded. Sure, there was always the ever present murmur of various commoners, complementing the freshness of a farmer's tomatoes or arguing the price of some shrimp, but it was never loud. The atmosphere in its entirety was serene.

That was, until she spotted a student from her class, quietly buying almonds from a nut stand.

In her shock she froze in place, stuttering out an apology to the older man who bumped into her as her hands unconsciously squeezed the handles of her father's wheelchair.

She almost didn't register who he was, but then he turned around and his face was unmistakable. And suddenly, she met his large, kind eyes, knowing then beyond a doubt there was no way she could pretend he hadn't seen her. He stared at her a moment, and Nadoka internally cringed as his gaze then shifted to her father. She nearly released his wheelchair and shoved him away. She nearly turned and pretended not to know the helpless, depressed man-child who sat below her. She nearly stranded him.

But then she scolded herself; whether mentally... well, unstable, or not, he was family. So, she held her classmate's gaze steadily as it returned to him, even offering him a tight-lipped smile.

She'd hoped to approach him; to make up some lie about why her father was wheelchair bound and beg him not to tell anyone else, but she never got the chance. A gargantuan hand came up to scratch at the back of an intricately-shaped head, and before she could even will her solid feet to move, he had spun and walked briskly away. His much-too broad shoulders left her view, but Nadoka was too scared to move.

She should've chased after him, but she couldn't. How was she supposed to go sprinting through the crowd like a madman with her father sitting complacently below her? And she couldn't leave him, not if she wanted any sort of dignity in the future.

The rest of her market trip, usually so stress-relieving and enjoyable, was hectic. Fears for her classmate's intentions of his newfound knowledge of her swirled like a whirlwind through her mind, and sometimes they crowded so thickly her stomach churned and she thought she may throw up.

It wasn't that her life would be over entirely. She knew she could probably conjure up a story believable enough— and more importantly boring enough— that her classmates would quickly be tired of her private life and be drawn back into the world of their own desires. But her mind continued to stay stuck by the strong grip of all the what-ifs. What if someone didn't believe her, and decided to do some research on her life? What if they found out her mother left? What if they found out who her mother was?

All of these what-ifs were things she'd hoped to never have to worry about. She'd hoped that all of class 1-A would be too caught up in becoming heroes that they'd pay no mind to the personal lives of any others. And while her primary fear had not been brought to a boil accurately— the discovery of her father's condition being more accidental than intentional— her fears had come to fruition nonetheless.

Because if any of her classmates found out who her mother was, things would never be the same.

She felt silly. How could she already care so much for her classmates, and their opinions of her? Maybe it was because— at least for the past six years— she hadn't had people like them. She hadn't had people who pestered her for chocolate or invited her to the movies or thumb-wrestled with her. Come to think of it, Midoriya was the first person she'd hugged in years.