Airwaves Unscripted (PapaMic)

The news segment wraps up, and I stretch in my chair, rolling my shoulders. "Alright, now that we've thoroughly roasted society, it's time for the most important debate of the night."

Dad hums, amused. "Oh? And what might that be?"

I grin. "Music."

A dramatic pause.

Then, "EXCUSE ME?!"

I barely dodge the auditory assault by yanking my headset off. "Dad! Oh my god! Do you have to yell every time you're surprised?!"

"YES, ACTUALLY, IT'S A LEGAL REQUIREMENT," he shouts before immediately calming down. "Now, what about music?"

I lean back in my chair, lacing my fingers together. "Your taste is trash."

Another pause.

Then: "YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE—!"

I cackle. "See? This is exactly why we need to have this conversation! You listen to—what? Rock, punk, old-school screamo?"

"Classics," he corrects.

"Relics," I counter.

A gasp. "You take that BACK!"

"I will not because it's the truth!" I spin in my chair dramatically. "Dad, you have the taste of a guy who peaked in high school and never emotionally moved on."

He gasps again, deeper this time. "How dare you?!"

"You literally still own a leather jacket with studs on it."

"And I wear it with pride!"

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Dad. Your playlist is just 'Loud Noises: The Album.'"

"And yours is what? Sad boy indie rock and overly dramatic anime openings?"

"First of all—rude. Second of all, excuse you, anime openings slap."

"Some of them, sure! But half of them sound like someone discovered auto-tune and went nuts."

"That's rich coming from a man who listens to songs where the lead singer just screams into the mic like he stubbed his toe on a table!"

"IT'S PASSION, IZUKU!"

"IT'S A NOISE COMPLAINT WAITING TO HAPPEN!"

There's a brief, heated silence as we stare each other down through the internet connection.

Then, Dad speaks. "Alright. You know what this calls for?"

I smirk. "A showdown."

"EXACTLY."

I crack my knuckles. "Alright, old man. We each get one song to prove our taste is superior. Chat decides the winner."

"Bring it on, brat."

I quickly type in the poll for our live listeners—because obviously, this is a democracy, and I intend to win. Then, I dig through my playlist and select my weapon of choice: a high-energy anime opening that absolutely goes hard.

Dad, predictably, chooses some old-school rock anthem with heavy guitar riffs that definitely inspired at least three generations of rebellious teenagers.

The music plays, the chat blows up, and for a solid three minutes, we sit in silence, each mentally willing our song to claim victory.

When both songs finish, I announce, "Alright, poll time!"

We wait.

We stare.

The results roll in.

...It's a tie.

I slam my hands on my desk. "IMPOSSIBLE!"

Dad laughs triumphantly. "HA! Looks like the people have taste!"

"Or they pity you because you're old!"

"HEY!"

The chat is in chaos. Some people are demanding a rematch. Others are taking sides. A few just want both of us to shut up and play actual music.

I huff, arms crossed. "Fine. You win this time, but mark my words, Mic, the war isn't over."

He cackles. "Anytime, anywhere, Deku!"

And just like that, the debate ends.

As the chat slows down, I lean back, still grinning. These little battles? They're the best part of my day.

As the chat finally settles from our sonic warfare, I take a deep breath and turn my attention back to the mic. "Well, folks, that's about all the time we have for tonight! Thank you for tuning in to Deku's Discourse, where sarcasm is our love language, and questionable life choices are our brand."

Dad hums in approval. "And remember, listeners! If someone says your music taste sucks—"

"—they're probably just jealous," I finish smoothly.

"Or they have no taste," he adds.

"That too."

I glance at the chat, smirking at the flood of "GG" messages, people debating who really won, and a few confused newcomers wondering how the conversation derailed so fast.

Classic.

Clearing my throat, I shift into Professional Host Mode™. "Seriously, though, thanks for hanging out with us! Whether you're here for the commentary, the chaos, or just to procrastinate on responsibilities, we appreciate you."

Dad hums again, but softer this time. "Yeah, it's always a blast. And hey, Izuku—"

I blink. He almost never uses my name on air.

"You did good tonight, kid."

...Oh.

I swallow. Because that? That is Dad Code for I'm proud of you.

And I don't know what to do with that, so I default to sarcasm. "I always do good, but thanks for noticing."

He barks out a laugh. "Alright, smartass. Wrap us up."

I smile, letting the warmth settle. "As always, stay safe, stay chaotic, and don't take life too seriously—it's not like any of us are getting out of it alive. This is Deku, signing off."

Dad follows. "And Present Mic, signing off! Stay loud, stay proud—"

"And for the love of god, don't blow out your mic again," I finish, clicking the power button before he can protest.

The broadcast ends.

And just like that, the world goes quiet.

I let out a slow breath, pulling off my headset and slumping back in my chair. The walls still hum with faint echoes of my mom and Hisashi's ongoing argument, but in here, in this space, it doesn't reach me.

It's just me and the lingering buzz of energy from the show.

I grab my phone, typing out a quick thanks, Dad before tossing it onto my desk. He'll probably send back a dumb meme or something equally ridiculous, but that's just how we do things.

A glance at the clock tells me it's late.

Too late to do anything productive. Too early to pass out.

So, naturally, I do the only thing that makes sense.

I turn my music up, flop onto my bed, and completely ignore the rest of the world.

Because tonight, I don't have to be a hero-in-training.

I don't have to be Midoriya Izuku, Quirkless Crybaby Turned One-For-All Successor.

I just get to be Izuku.