Airwaves Unscripted (PapaMic)

(Hizashi Yamada's POV)

I let out a sharp breath, running a hand through my hair. "Alright, enough."

Shinsou blinks at me from the couch. "Huh?"

"I said enough," I repeat, already waving him off. "Today's been a goddamn circus, and I am done thinking for the night. Go to bed, kid."

He squints at me, clearly skeptical. "You sure you're good?"

"I'm golden, dude." I flash him a grin, though even I can feel how forced it is. "This ol' radio star just needs to scream into a mic for a bit, y'know?"

Shouta sighs from the hallway. "Don't keep him up all night, Zashi."

"No promises!" I sing, already making my way to Izuku's room.

The door's cracked open, light still on. Good.

I knock twice before pushing it open. "Oi, problem child. You asleep?"

Izuku's sitting on his bed, propped against the headboard with a notebook in his lap. His eyes flick to me, suspicious but not unfriendly. "...Should I be?"

"Nah, actually, I need your help." I stroll in, plopping onto the floor with my legs crossed. "You up for a little late-night broadcast?"

His brows shoot up. "Wait—now?"

"Why not?" I spread my arms. "We've got an audience waiting for some quality content, and who are we to deny them?"

Izuku hesitates, fingers curling around his notebook. He's thinking—I can see it.

"C'mon, Zuzu." I grin, trying to keep it light. "I know today's been a hell of a ride, but what better way to deal with it than making fun of dumb internet takes for an hour?"

That gets him. The corner of his mouth twitches. "...You're really using emotional manipulation on me, huh?"

"*I would *never.**" I gasp, clutching my chest. "I am merely presenting a very reasonable, very fun alternative to you sitting here and brooding all night."

"I wasn't brooding."

"Suuuuure."

Izuku groans but swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Fine. But if I fall asleep in class tomorrow, I'm blaming you."

"As is your right." I flash him a thumbs-up. "Now let's get to work, partner."

—

Fifteen minutes later, we're set up in my makeshift studio—also known as the corner of my room where all my radio equipment lives. The "ON AIR" sign flicks on, and I lean into the mic, grinning.

"YOOOOO, what's up, listeners?! It's your favorite host, Present Mic, back at it again with another late-night edition of Screaming Into the Void! And guess what? Tonight, I've got a special guest!"

I turn to Izuku, who sighs dramatically before leaning in. "Hey there, everyone. It's your local disaster, here to provide commentary and unsolicited opinions."

"Which are the best kind of opinions!" I add.

"Exactly."

And just like that, the world outside fades.

For now, it's just us, a microphone, and the chaos we create.

(Izuku Midoriya's POV)

"—and I swear, if I see one more hero posting a 'thoughts and prayers' tweet after doing jack shit to fix the problem, I'm gonna lose my mind," I say, drumming my fingers against the desk.

"Oh-ho, careful, Zuzu!" Dad snickers. "You're gonna make all the corporate heroes cry into their brand sponsorships!"

"Oh no, whatever shall they do? Maybe wipe their tears with the stacks of cash they made off merchandise while ignoring the civilians suffering right outside their shiny-ass agencies?*" I lean into the mic, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm just a kid, what do I know?"

"You know too much," Dad sighs dramatically. "Society's golden boy, how dare you think critically?"

"I know, I should be grateful!" I throw a hand up. "Look at me, a student at U.A., the peak of all human existence, training under heroes who definitely, absolutely, 100% never screw up or fail anyone! Right, Dad?"

Dad snorts, trying to hold in his laughter. "Oh, absolutely. Heroes are always perfect, and the system has zero flaws."

"Exactly!" I gesture wildly. "*Clearly, those people who get ignored, overlooked, or outright abandoned just didn't try hard enough. If they wanted help, they should've been conveniently located near a hero who was having a good day!"

Dad claps his hands. "And let's not forget the golden rule: If you're not 'hero material,' then society's just not built for you! That's your fault, obviously!"

"Mmm, yes, let's talk about that!" I tap the mic.  "my new brother, who totally doesn't hate my guts—hi, by the way!—spent his entire childhood being told he's villainous because his quirk is scary. Meanwhile, I—quirkless, useless, disposable—got the same treatment but for a different reason. Because society loves picking favorites.*"

Dad hums. "It's almost like... the system is designed to benefit a select few while leaving the rest to rot?*"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, careful now, Dad." I gasp. "That almost sounded like criticism! We can't have that! You're a pro hero! What if people start thinking for themselves?!"

"Perish the thought!"

"Exactly!" I slam my hands down. "Heroes are the good guys, and if you dare question anything about them, you must be anti-hero or pro-villain! Those are the only two options, right?"

Dad dramatically wipes a fake tear. "It's so simple when you put it like that, Zuzu."

"I try." I smirk. "Wouldn't wanna burden people with nuance or critical thinking. That's dangerous, you know."

"Super dangerous."

We both pause. The silence lingers for a second, stretching just long enough to be uncomfortable.

Because it's not really a joke.

We mean every word.

"Anyway," I shake my head, breaking the moment. "Let's move on before we accidentally wake up the morality police. What's next?"

Dad glances at his notes. "Ooooh, this one's fun! 'Heroes with their own energy drinks—a discussion on capitalism, branding, and selling out!'"

I groan. "Oh, kill me now."

Dad cackles. "Buckle up, partner, it's gonna be a wild ride!"

And just like that, the world outside doesn't exist.

Just for tonight, it's me and Dad against the world.