[MHA Characters are test subjects in a secret, underground lab (part six) Ashido discovers dancing and through it she gains a kind of freedom that none of the children know.]

It was the end of their fifth year in the lab when Subject 13, who did not yet know that her name was Mina Ashido, started to dance. There was no music, and she did not even know at the time what dancing was, for she had never heard the word before. She slid barefoot across the concrete floor of the training center, twisting and twirling.

She went faster, shifting her balance, moving smoothly with the acid secreting from her feet. Leaning left, she placed a hand to the ground and kicked her feet up, swinging them around, splashing sticky acid a few feet away in all directions. When her feet touched the ground again, her body sprung up and followed their momentum. She kicked a foot out behind her to speed up, then turned and spun on one foot. She was smiling. It was fun.

"13! This is combat training, not dance class!" Mister Enji barked at her, and she slowed to a stop, staring at him.

"What's dance class?" She frowned. "Is that another subject we're gonna hafta learn when Miss Inko finds a good enough instructor, like with math?" She hated math.

"Dance is artistic expression though physical movement," Mister Shota explained. "And I think it certainly has its place in combat training. A lot of dance moves share similarities with martial arts."

"Be that as it may, dance it too wild and uncontrolled to be useful in a fight," Mister Enji argued.

"I disagree. Dance is among the most disciplined professions, and dancers have to command complete control over their entire bodies."

"Dance is not a sport, it's an art. You don't fight battles with dancing in the same way you wouldn't body slam a dance floor."

"If art has no place in combat, then I suppose that as a martial artist, I have no reason to be here."

"Martial arts isn't a real art in the same way dance isn't a real sport," Mister Enji scoffed.

"Exactly," Mister Shota said dully, "because they both absolutely are."

"Excuse me!" the girl piped up, squirming uncomfortably. She'd been watching the back and forth of their argument, but still wasn't sure what they were talking about. "So is dance a martial art then? Like karate, or jiu jitsu or something?"

"Dance isn't a martial art, it's an actual art."

"Martial arts are actual arts," Mister Shota grumbled. "Why don't you check on the others, 17 looks like he could use some pointers, I'll deal with 13 now."

Mister Enji left with a scowl, and Mister Shota crouched down in front of Ashido.

"I still don't understand," she whispered to him sheepishly, hoping that admitting it wouldn't get her in trouble. They were supposed to understand things right away, but she was always a lot slower at it than some of the others, like 04 or 20.

"That's alright. You kids haven't had much exposure to the arts."

"What exactly is 'the arts'?"

"The arts are various forms of expressing yourself. Mister Hizashi has showed you poems, hasn't he?" She nodded. "Poetry is a form of art. You've seen pictures in some of your textbooks? Paintings maybe?" Again, she nodded. "Photography can be a form of art, and painting is the most well known form of art. Remember all the martial arts I've taught you? Have you noticed how they feel smoother and more natural than just regular punching and kicking and doing push-ups and all those things Mister Enji shows you?"

"Yeah, I always like that more than punching a bag," she said. "That's just boring."

"That's what art is," Mister Shota told her. "Dance is similar to martial arts in that it uses movement rather than paint or words, but dance is usually used in a different way. What you were doing before with the spinning and the jumping was actually very similar to dance, and given your ability, dance would probably be a good skill for you to learn, if you're interested."

"Yeah! That sounds awesome! Will you teach me?"

"I'm not a dancer, but I can put in a request and a letter of recommendation and we'll see what we can do."

"Woo-hoo!"

"Now get back to training. You're supposed to be focussing on speed and balance, not fancy footwork."

"Yes sir!"

Miss Inko actually laughed when she saw the proposal for dance lessons on her desk. She thought it had to be a joke. Then she read the letter attached, and how Aizawa talked about how it could improve their combat ability and she laughed some more.

"Yo, what's so funny, boss lady?" Yamada asked as he strolled into her office without even deigning to knock.

She was not particularly fond of Yamada. She felt quite certain that he was always trying to undermine her, though she could never find proof. She'd considered firing him many times, but he'd been working there for as long as she had and knew as much about the lab, possibly more. If she fired him, she would have to erase his memory, but he knew a trick to negate the memory altering process—and he refused to tell anyone what it was, so they couldn't fix it—which meant that firing him would cause problems.

She couldn't fire him anyway. Even she had people she answered to, and they seemed to think Yamada was integral to keeping the labs functioning. She didn't see it. She would admit though, that there was no point trying to keep anything from him. He always found out anyway, the bastard.

"Aizawa has proposed giving the subjects in sector 1 dance lessons," she said. "He says it will help improve their combat abilities and reaction times."

"Well that makes total sense," he said, sitting in an empty chair and kicking his clunky boots up on her printer. She frowned at him, utterly displeased. "I think it's a great idea!"

"I disagree. I see no reason why teaching them to dance would be necessary or beneficial," she said, her tone unwavering. "Their current training regimen is perfectly sufficient, and we don't want to encourage individuality or self-expression because that will lead to them questioning authority. Those subjects can do truly terrible things. Do you really want them questioning authority when that authority is you?"

"Giving someone individuality makes 'em stronger. Do ya want 'em to grow into people who just follow orders, or d'ya want 'em to think for themselves?" Yamada asked, casual as you please. "What's the point of all the advanced lessons if ya don't want 'em to have minds of their own."

"Yamada, they don't need 'minds of their own'," she told him. "They will be down here until we've wrung every bit of knowledge we can out of them, until we know exactly how they work, and after that, those that are still alive will be sold as weapons, or given as gifts to garner good will, and we'll combine the knowledge we got from them with the experiments in sector 4 to create more of them. I'm sure you've figured all this out by now Yamada, so why are you still trying to fight for free will for those creatures."

"They're children, Inko," Yamada said, and his voice dropped an octave as he stared at her, eyes alight with the embers of anger behind his square glasses. "One of 'em is your child. You call 'em children to their faces, so why are they creatures to ya now?"

"You know why I do that."

"Yeah, I do." He sighed. His shoulders slumped and he sank a little lower in his chair, his anger seemingly dissipated in a heartbeat. "Call a slave 'friend' and they'll work for ya 'til they drop, right? Giving someone the illusion of freedom can make 'em complacent in their imprisonment. But I'll tell ya what: there's no better illusion of freedom than art."

"I'm not going through the trouble of finding another top tier instructor to teach them art," she said flatly.

"Speakin' of top tier instructors, that's actually why I came in here." He took his feet off her printer and pulled a manila envelope about the size of a paperback book from his lab coat. "I found you the perfect history teacher. I know that was giving ya trouble. Her name's Nemuri Kayama." He got up and dropped the envelope on her desk. "I already got her approved by the higher-ups this morning, and she starts next week. No need to thank me." He grinned his wide, stupid grin, a grin that always meant trouble for Inko, then he turned and wandered out of her office with no more ceremony than when he'd arrived.

She opened the envelope and looked at the information enclosed. True to his word, Yamada had already gotten his choice approved and authorized by her superiors. He'd gone right over her head, which pissed her off, but as long as he'd chosen a suitable candidate at least he'd saved her some extra work by doing so. Nemuri Kayama; female; age 26; Japanese. Authoritative knowledge of all facets of history, but most acclaimed for her work in the field of—

Inko clenched her fists, crumpling the page. That son of a bitch knew about Aizawa's proposal long before he sauntered into her office that day. He went over her head to hire a fucking art historian, who, on top of that, was a dancer with international training in multiple forms of dance. Yamada probably presented Aizawa's proposal to Inko's superiors, and after that, Kayama must have seemed like the perfect candidate. After all, presentation was Yamada's specialty.

To Inko, this was clear insubordination, but unfortunately, there wasn't anything she could do about it. She seemed to be the only one who recognized Yamada for the liability he was, and no one else could be convinced. There was never anything she could do about him.

A few days later, Miss Inko smiled as she walked into sector 1C, the children's living quarters and recreation area, but she did not look happy. A few steps behind her was another woman whom the children did not recognize. The stranger was taller than Miss Inko by a sizable margin, and her shoes had spikes on the bottom that made her look even taller. She had long black hair and red, cat eye glasses and she wore a tight black dress and sheer, floral scarf draped loosely around her neck.

"Hello children," Miss Inko said sweetly, and they fell into line immediately. "This is Miss Nemuri, and she's going to be your history instructor from now on."

Miss Nemuri didn't even glance at the children as she twirled gracefully and took a low, dramatic bow. "It's very nice to meet you all," Miss Nemuri said, then finally, she looked up at the children and found herself face to face with blank space over a child sized royal blue jumpsuit. She screeched and jerked back.

Hands drawn up to her chest in shock, she stared wide-eyed at the children who stared curiously back at her. None of them were normal. With her keen artistic eye, Miss Nemuri could see that even the most normal looking were only normal adjacent. It was like looking at a surrealist painting done by an artist who was going for realism, but wanted to take some creative liberties.

Some were obviously unreal, like the boy with the number 01 on his jumpsuit who looked like the personification of a pair of mismatched socks, one white, one patterned, or the boy with the number 03 on his jumpsuit who had six arms. Others, like the kid with the number 07 who's indigo eyes had an iridescent quality that just wasn't quite real, or the girl with the number 19 on her jumpsuit, whose cheeks were a little too pink, and who held her hands a little too stiff.

When Miss Nemuri got over her initial shock, she cleared her throat and adopted a more neutral stance. She noticed a few of the children stiffen, as if they expected her to attack them or something. She'd never known five year olds to stand so still. At Miss Inko's command, they introduced themselves by number, not by name: 01 to 14 and 16 to 20. She was afraid to wonder why there was a gap in the line instead of a number fifteen.

"I'm looking forward to teaching you history. I'm sure you'll all be wonderful students," Miss Nemuri said once they were done. "Miss Inko's gonna show me around the rest of the lab, but I'll see you soon." She waved goodbye and left, accompanied by Miss Inko.

"What did you think of them?" Miss Inko asked her.

"They're... certainly well-behaved for kids their age," she said. She quickly dropped the optimist act when Inko side-eyed her condescendingly. "I have to ask: where did you get them? Are they aliens or something?"

"They were born on earth, but I would go so far as to call them human," Miss Inko said. "That's why they're here. We're trying to figure out what they are, and how we can make practical use of the knowledge we gain from studying them."

"So do you know why they look like that?"

"For some, it's a physical manifestation of their abilities, like with Subjects 02 and 03, for others it's a side effect of the mutated genes, that's usually the case with strange hair and eyes. We haven't figured out what's wrong with Subject 13 yet though. We think the pink skin and hair are related to her acid immunity, but we can't explain the horns yet."

"'Acid immunity'?"

"Yes, all the subjects have unique abilities of some kind, the only exception is 20, but we're working on that."

"Did you make these children in the lab?"

"I'm afraid that's classified." Miss Inko stopped in front of a door labeled 1B. "This is the sector where you'll be working. your area is academics, and you'll have your own classroom for teaching history. You are barred from entering sector 1A, the experimentation ward, and you may only enter sector 1C when you are told to. You don't have the clearance to come and go as you please, so make sure you get authorization before entering places so you don't trigger the security system."

"Understood."

Miss Inko opened the door and Miss Nemuri followed her in. To the left there were what looked like scoreboards, three of them with numbers on them in a seemingly random order. Miss Inko paused when she noticed the new instructor staring at the boards.

"Those are how we rank the subjects performance in different areas when compared to each other," she explained.

"That's horrible," Miss Nemuri said.

"Well we can't mark their progress in comparison to normal children their age."

Miss Nemuri gaped, but said nothing more. She could already tell that there would be no use trying to debate child psychology with this woman. Besides, she was a historian, what did she know about scientific studies? For all she knew this sort of record-keeping was typical in professional laboratory environments, it wasn't like she'd ever been in one before. She followed after Inko as she continued down the corridor.

"The doors on the right side are academic classrooms, and on the left side lead to training centers and facilities for physical education," Miss Inko explained. "When we were determining the layout, the children were still very young, so we opted for a more simple, straight-forward floor plan."

"Isn't five years old still very young?"

"For humans maybe." Miss Inko opened the sixth door down on the right. Miss Inko said the children weren't really human, and she was the woman who ran the place so she would know. Wouldn't she? "This will be your classroom. I'll leave you to get acclimated. There's a notepad on the whiteboard tray, please make a list of anything you'll need, and keep in mind that too much functionless stimuli will detract from the subjects' studies."

With that, Miss Inko left, closing the door behind her. The classroom walls were a cool grey which Nemuri thought was almost harsher than white would have been. There were huge whiteboards stretched out across two of the walls. The one on the wall with the door had graphing lines etched into it, the one on the wall to the left, which she assumed was meant to be the front of the classroom, was smooth.

The flooring was white vinyl tiles with flecks of grey. There were no desks yet, and no chairs, not for the students, nor for her. There were only two power outlets, both at the front of the classroom, clearly not meant for the students to use. There were no bookshelves, no supply closets. There were no windows, but as far underground as they were, Nemuri didn't know why she expected there would be.

There was a notepad on the tray under the whiteboard at the front of the classroom, just as Miss Inko had said, and a ballpoint pen with black ink. She picked it up, and wrote For Kayama's Classroom on the top of the first page. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

Next she wrote: • Globe

Every history classroom she'd ever been in had a globe, so that probably wouldn't be deemed 'functionless stimuli'.

• Dry Erase Markers would probably prove useful as well, she would need those, and a • Whiteboard Eraser because erasing things with her hands just wouldn't do. She wondered if she had to put desks on the list, or if they would be provided without her asking.

"Knock knock baby," came a voice from the doorway. "You're Nemuri Kayama, yeah? I'm Hizashi Yamada; I'm the one who recommended ya. I teach languages down the hall. Anything I can help ya with?"

"Yes sweet thing," she said. He wasn't exactly her type, kinda old-school punk-rock meets nerd she would have shoved in a locker in high school, but she could tell from the moment he walked in that he was the type of coworker she could goof around with, and after the stone-cold brick wall that was Miss Inko, that came as a huge relief. "I was just trying to figure out what I should ask for for my classroom. Got any ideas?"

"Well you know honey-bee, you gotta set up your classroom in the best way for you," he said. "But if ya want, I can show ya my room and maybe you can get some ideas."

"Sounds great sugar-lips, lead the way." Yamada grinned and led her back the way she came.

His classroom was the one nearest the entrance, and he gestured her in as he opened the door for her. The first thing that struck her was that rather than having desks, Yamada's classroom had four rectangular tables, and instead of chairs there were colorful cushioned stools. The color was the second thing that struck her.

Yamada's classroom was exactly the same size and shape as hers, but it didn't look the same, not even a little bit. For one thing, though the grid whiteboard was the same, it had a yellow border, and the whiteboard at the front of the classroom had been replaced by a yellow glass board, and the walls behind both whiteboards had been painted cerulean blue. The other two walls were still gray, but a much paler grey than Nemuri's walls which was almost, but not quite, white.

The tables were the same light gray as the walls, but the edges of the tables were orange. The cushioned stools were lime green, and tucked neatly under the tables.

The back of the classroom was wall-to-wall bookshelves about as high as Nemuri's waist, all easily within reach of the children, and packed full of books of varying reading levels from picture books to novels. Above the bookshelves were many multicolored lettering charts: Hiragana, the English alphabet, the Cyrillic alphabet, the Greek alphabet, simplified Chinese, Korean, Morse code, fingerspelling charts for both Japanese and American Sign Language, and Tolkien Elvish, as well as a long poster which displayed all the kanji in the Japanese language and their pronunciations.

Yamada's own desk was pushed into a corner, and it had a laptop on it with a bright yellow cover. The desk was metal, and the side of it was painted yellow as well. Nineteen round magnets were stuck to it, each with a number between one and twenty, excluding fifteen, and each decorated with various craft materials from glitter to clay.

"How did you get away with this?" Nemuri asked once she had finished gaping. "I didn't even get to look inside my room before Miss Inko was warning me against 'functionless stimuli'." She put air quotes around the last two words. "This looks like a classroom for actual children."

"They are actual children." Granted, she hadn't known Yamada for long, but she had never heard him sound so serious. "I'm sure Inko tried to convince ya they were lab rats and not people, but she's wrong, and it's very important ta me that ya know that. You have to treat them like real people."

Nemuri blinked, taken aback, but nodded. Yamada nodded back to her, then rolled his shoulders back with a deep breath, and when he spoke again it was louder. She only realized afterwards that he'd been whispering.

"To answer your question, nothing in this room is functionless stimuli," Yamada said. "I always do my research before going apeshit, so every aspect of this room serves a purpose. Bright colors stimulate learning and brain functions, especially in younger students. Blue for for increased mental fortuity and productivity, yellow for drawing and maintaining attention, orange to maximize blood flow and respiratory systems and to boost memory and critical thinking, and green for restfulness and long term concentration.

"The stools are more comfortable to sit in for long periods of time than chairs because they're softer, but because they don't have backs the students have to stay alert so they don't fall off. The charts are colorful but they're all clear and educational, and the bookshelves are a given in a languages class, but having them be half size means they're inviting and accessible to the kids. I didn't want them to be intimidated by ceiling height bookshelves."

"As they get older, I'll get taller bookshelves and maybe even swap the tables for desks, but for now they're just kids, and just because they're reading at a sixth grade level, doesn't mean I should treat them like teenagers."

"A sixth grade level?"

"Only in Hiragana and English," he amended. "Their Russian needs a lot of work."

"They're five aren't they? How many languages are you teaching these kids?" she asked.

"Uh, let's see, I'm teaching them the most spoken ones, Chinese, English, Japanese, obviously, as well as Japanese and American sign language. The official reasons I gotta teach sign language is despicable, if ya ask me, but non-verbal communication is useful, so I would have taught it anyway. Also Russian, French, Korean, Latin... ultimately they'll be able to speak every language I can speak at least passably well."

"I see," she looked back at the alphabet charts above the bookshelves. "These kids get a really intensive education."

"Yeah, and you'll be expected to keep up with teaching it," he warned her. "I'm sure you'll do fine though. Ya got any other questions before you start filling out your own room?"

"Just a couple." She turned back to face him and met his golden brown eyes. "Is there anything you think I should avoid when dressing my classroom?"

"Well, the one color I tried not to use a lot of is red because it stimulates adrenaline and if there's one thing these kids don't need more of, it's adrenaline," he said thoughtfully. "Also, don't bother asking for carpeted floors. I don't know why ya would, but they're harder to clean and thorough cleaning and sanitization is really important down here."

"Makes sense. My last question is about desks. Will they be provided or should I make sure to put them on my list?"

"Put 'em on your list if ya want 'em, and specify what kind of desks you want. I went for tables because it encourages the kids to work together, and they're all they've got down here, so it's important that they can do that, but if that doesn't work for ya, do whatever does," he answers easily. She was actually surprised at how helpful Yamada turned out to be. "Also, if you wanna paint walls, put the exact color on the list, and ya gotta do all the paintin' yourself. The room is yours and you can do what ya want with it, but you gotta do it. I'm down ta help ya some, but don't plan for more than you can handle."

"Right. I'll keep that in mind. Anything else I should know?"

"I think that's about it." He looked around his classroom as if it would remind him of anything he missed. Apparently it did. "Oh, one more thing." He led her over to his desk and opened the second drawer down on the right side. Inside were snacks, granola bars, apples and oranges, even a bag of m&m's. "This is my secret stash, so don't tell anyone about it. Strictly speaking, I don't have the authorization to feed the kids outside of designated mealtimes, but some of 'em get low blood sugar from time to time because of the experiments, or they get drained during training and need an energy boost."

"What exactly happens in these experiments?"

"Unfortunately I can't tell ya that," he said, closing the drawer. "Probably not so unfortunate, ta be honest. Ya don't have the authorization to know the details, and technically neither do I, but I can tell ya that it's some dark shit mosta the time."

Nemuri didn't say anything for a long, stretched out moment. She stared down at the decorated magnets and realized belatedly that they'd probably been made by the kids themselves. "Are these kids... okay?"

"Not in the slightest, Kayama," Yamada answered without hesitation. "They may never be, but I can at least help them feel more okay. I can make sure they feel safe in my classroom, and that they know they won't be hurt or ridiculed in here. I hope you'll do the same?"

She nodded hesitantly, then resolutely. "Yeah. I'm new here, and I don't really know what's going on, but... if you're right about these kids, then they need safe spaces, and if Miss Inko's right, and they really aren't human, then it's not like it'll do them any harm."

"Well, can't say I love that you're hedging your bets, but as long as it's in my favor, it's fine." He ran a hand over his hair, tugging gently on his long, blond ponytail. "Speakin' of favors, I gotta ask you for one."

"What is it?"

"I know you're a dancer. It's part of the reason I recommended you," he explained. "I'd like ya to teach 13 how to dance."

"What?"

"13 is the pink girl, and she wants to learn how to dance," he said. "Can you teach her?"

They looked each other in the eye for a while, and Nemuri considered it. She'd never actually taught dance before, but she'd taken lessons from dozens of different teachers, so she had an idea of how it worked. She'd done plenty of performances, and she'd taught art history, so she felt fairly confident she could do it, and even if she was a terrible dance teacher, a five year old with no experience couldn't judge her for it.

"I can give her a lesson in my empty classroom today, if that works, and then we'll see."

"Thanks," he said. "The kids had their free hour moved up today so they could meet ya and it's almost over, but I'm sure I could convince Shota to let her out for a little while when their training starts. Might only be half an hour, but you can probably at least get a feel for it in that time, yeah?"

She agreed, and Yamada went to talk to another coworker whom she hadn't yet met, called Shota.

"Come with me. I'll introduce ya!" Yamada waved for her to follow him across the hall. "Hey Shota!"

A scruffy-looking man walked over to meet them by the door. She certainly wouldn't have expected someone who worked in a lab like this one to look like him, but if he didn't work down here, there was no way he could have accidentally wandered in. Yamada grinned brightly at him.

"Kayama, this is Shota Aizawa, he teaches the kids martial arts, and that beefy guy over there," He pointed to a very large man with a red beard and an angry face who was setting up equipment further away. "That's Enji Todoroki, he's in charge of strength and endurance training. Fellas, this is Nemuri Kayama, she's the new history teacher."

"Nice to meet you Kayama," Aizawa said. Behind him, Enji Todoroki looked at her and nodded his head before returning to his work.

"Kayama also happens to be a dancer, and we were wondering if 13 could be excused from training for the first hour," Yamada said. "So Kayama can give her some lessons."

"I can give you forty-five minutes," Aizawa agreed, "I highly doubt that Todoroki will agree to any more than that. In the future, I suggest you carve out a set time for lessons, or administer them during the children's free hour. They'll be here any minute, just wait."

A few minutes later, nineteen children walked through the door to sector 1B in a single file line. They reminded Nemuri of prisoners, chained to each other at the ankles, or slaves. She had to be a little impressed though, because these little kids stood in straighter lines than some 'professional' dancers she'd had the displeasure of working with.

"Before we begin," Aizawa said. "13, please go with Miss Nemuri. She'll send you back in 45 minutes."

The pink girl walked forward, and the rest of them eyed her apprehensively. They looked terrified for her. She looked terrified for herself.

"Don't worry, darling, it's nothing bad," Nemuri tried to reassure her. It didn't seem to help. Nemuri walked out the door with a pinched face and Subject 13 trudged after her like a death row convict on her way to the electric chair. They entered Nemuri's barren classroom and the girl looked around curiously.

"It's so empty," she remarked, then jumped and put her hands over her mouth. "Sorry, I didn't mean to speak out of turn," came her muffled apology.

"It's quite alright. You don't have to censor yourself around me," Nemuri smiled sadly at her, then realized she might not understand the word 'censor'. "I mean, you can say whatever you're thinking as long as you're in my classroom."

"This is your classroom?" she asked, slowly taking her hands off her mouth. She looked around the space, black eyes taking in the scant details. "It doesn't look anything like Mister Hizashi's classroom, or Mister Higari's classroom, or Miss Chiyo's classroom, or Mister—"

"Yeah, I get it kid. It looks weird because I haven't done anything with it yet," she interrupted, before the girl could list every teacher she had. "Maybe you can help me come up with ideas while we're here, but actually, I'm gonna teach you some dancing." The girl gasped loudly, her mouth dropped open and she stared wide-eyed at Nemuri like she couldn't believe what she'd just heard.

"Really?"

"Yeah," she said. "You wanna learn, don't you?"

"Yesyesyesyesyesyes! Yes!"

"Alright, uh... what do I call you, just 13?"

"Yup, that's me. Miss Inko calls me Subject 13, but I like just 13 better." It sounded so casual coming from the girl, but it was heartbreaking. Not as heartbreaking as the next thing she said, however. "So what's dancing?"

"It's artistic movement set to music," Nemuri explained. She hadn't expected to have to start this basic. "You know what music is, don't you?"

"Yup! Mister Hizashi let us listen to some. It's kinda weird, but I like it." Then 13 mimicked a high tempo rock song. "bobobochk buhbo-bobochk, nadadanadadanaowaowao bumbimbanano."

"Ok, stop, stop." Miss Nemuri fished her phone out of her purse and pulled up her music library. She selected her warmup music playlist, and started with a smoother, slower song with a nice, clear beat. She turned up the volume on her phone as high as it would go. "I'll have to put speakers on my list." She put her phone and her purse on the floor in the corner and walked toward 13, swaying her hips. "What do you think of this music?"

"I like it," she said.

"let's do some stretches, and then we can get started."

13 was definitely flexible enough to be a dancer, and she picked up the movement pretty quickly. Her natural sense of rhythm was excellent, and she barely had to be told how to move with the music.

When Nemuri first met the little pink girl, she'd been afraid. She knew it was a little silly to be afraid of a little girl who was only as tall as her knees, but when the little girl has black eyes and pink skin and little horns poking out of her curly hair, a little fear wasn't unwarranted. Then when she learned the girl had acidic abilities, she thought that fear was justified, but once Nemuri started dancing with her, all that melted away.

After they started dancing, she was just a little girl, not any kind of monster. Nemuri even got used to her strange appearance much faster than she ever could have imagined. She was young, and excitable, and she loved to dance. When the forty-five minutes were up, Nemuri was sad to see her go, and already planning their next dance session in her head.

13 danced her way into the training center, and hummed while she did her strength training and she was so enthusiastic about telling the other kids about the dance lessons. She even showed them some of her new moves.

The next time she went to Miss Nemuri's classroom, two of the walls were mirrored, and the floor was black, and the walls were purple, and the desks and chairs folded up to stack in the corner, not taking up much space. There were bookshelves under the whiteboard with the grid, and a globe on top of the bookshelves, and speakers hung up near the ceiling all around the room.

Miss Nemuri had designed the space so she could easily convert it from a history classroom to a dance classroom and back again, and she set up dance lessons for 13 three times a week, which a few of the other children sometimes joined as well.

After the arrival of Subject 15, Nemuri was delighted to discover her favorite pupil's name. Mina Ashido's skills developed quickly, she found that she preferred some dance styles, like breakdancing, over others, and dancing seemed to put Ashido in a good mood and make her a generally happier person.

As Ashido rose up the ranks in Athletics thanks to her dance lessons, Aizawa didn't pass up the opportunity to give Mister Enji a smug look.

Through her special interest, Ashido found a level of freedom that she otherwise would never have had. Miss Inko always did her best to withhold any freedoms she could from them, so when anything that fostered individuality slipped though the cracks, the children clung to it like their lives depended on it, and in some ways, I suppose, they did.

[Alright, this is a couple hours later than I usually like to post, since I still had to edit, but here it is. Another more fluffy one. Go figure. Anyway, I'm gonna post this to AO3 and then go watch The Boys on Amazon Prime. Next up is Tetsutetsu and it's gonna be angsty as shit. Love y'all.

<3 Raaor!]