[Conversing with the devil...

At least he's behaved himself. The Kasha he knows wouldn't dream of calm, and Shoto looks lost a moment, troubled. His eyes fall closed when he tips his head back.]

Ah. It's nothing. [As if the other's imagined things. This isn't his beast he's holding; the angry hellion he'd summoned before, who'd snatched him up despite his struggling, carried him shouting across a forest, isn't for anyone's comfort. His cat's "just" his demon, still, and its human stares blank before glancing off, sharply, his nose wrinkling.

He's fighting for focus. He echoes back, softer.]

Part of me...

[A samurai minds his temper, right? He should conduct himself properly.

He straightens a little. But Midoriya isn't wrong, at all; a swordsman's blade's his extension. His friend's said it right.

Forgetting cats for katana, now. His first pick's the closest: a feather-light, modest field-sword—its elegant tsuba stamped with twists of bright, gold wisteria. Further down, a white-handled short-sword, embossed bamboo raised from metalwork. The next's a bit longer: a cluster of leaves around its guard, their sharpened edges encircling its thin, silver plating. A curved, 30-inch blade beneath. Nearly heavy as it's awkward. ...No good, though. The longest sword he's laid eyes on resting inches above that, where this young apprentice's interests, too full to contain now, lead his hands over, reaching. He nearly drops sideways.]

Whu- [Bracing to right himself.] Someone can use this?

[What?]

This one?

[It'd split a mountain! He can't consider it! He wants to argue, make excuses for why he isn't ready for such a strong weapon. That it's too long. Too advanced. Unwieldly. The ridiculousness of a novice—a student—reaching beyond his own skill level. Impossible, audacious. It's beyond capabilities.

But, Midoriya's said different. Makes him hesitate.]

You think so...?

[He says this, but all the while, he's held it straighter, upright, keeping it steady despite its additional blade-length. Managing. A real nodachi. White threads and gold flowers. Still reminders. That his mother's still waiting. A lot of people still waiting. He's let his doubting sit between beginnings and mastery; like his father's said. You just haven't tried!! He has to apply himself more.

He has to start trying.]

I'm not ready for a sword like this. ...I know that. I'm not ready for any sword here. But I'll need to start somewhere, right? I can't just wish for things to happen the way I'd want them to. It's not like it's gonna wait for me, so I might as well choose it. I'll just learn to use it sooner.

[He can't reserve dreams. He'll lose his chance.]

Midoriya, thanks. I'm taking this one. You can go ahead if you want. I can catch up.

[He's planning something.]

You can take Kasha. [...please...] I won't be long here.

Midoriya—

[It's alright. The Todoroki he's held in mind isn't so hazy-unclear, now. His cloudy dream's taken shape, again; far more tangible, solid. His path seems obvious.

He's decided on something.]

I've already thought this through. It's more than I deserve right now, but I feel like that's fine. Like it belongs with who I'd hope to be. [Does that make sense?] I know how strange it all sounds, but it's my first time seeing that. I couldn't exactly make it out before. I'd only had this vague idea of things. But I've been training with someone... a real samurai. [The root of this, really.] I can't go back with some plaything. I said I'd shadow you the closest, but I can't do it without the effort.

[A strength that he could borrow. He has to find it. He must.]

You found the best weapon here. I should've known you'd pick the strongest...

["The Snow, Moon and Flowers". All his, now. He should rename it...] The White Amaryllis. [He's learned a lot about flower-types during his plant ventures here. His mother's favorite. Not her blue, but a prominent gold surrounding its tsuba, along its scabbard's length. Its "strength and pride" written as small, repeating petals.

A hard-edged elegance. Just like ice.]

That's its name.

[No going backwards; in fact, he picks a second—a blue wakizashi—and then a separate, jeweled dagger which he holds towards the other.] Here. I thought I'd save it for the holiday, but, [well. It seems a good time for that.] you'll probably need it.

[No stopping him. He's broken away, already. Putting down... a lot... of gold.]

[What's a bit of gold anyways? He doesn't care. His former wealth was shallow, emptied. Incomparable to the worth placed with others. When his treasures sit elsewhere.

He wants to share this.]

It's fine if you can use it, right? Let's head back, then. [He's nearly sparkling, sliding the blade from its scabbard, sort of quietly spellbound now that he's properly taken ownership. Flinching once Kasha's hopped his shoulder again. His staring's distracted.]

I can't believe it...

[A real katana, just like that! He has to steady—remind himself. Don't be childish; don't draw it out! But still... he can't fight the thrill for long, the excess heat flaring up in him. There's too much happening all at once for his heart to sit still with. He's almost rushing.] Kasha. You know what we have to do now. [A temporary armistice. Nothing could keep him away from battles, now. He's sparking boyishly.] We'll need to combine our strengths again.

[Ah... oh.] Midoriya, here. Take a look.

[Passing his blade to him. He doesn't mind.]

It's a little heavy.

[A lot's still heavy. His earlier brightness dims again, fades a little when pressing silence settles over him. Before his eyes drop as always.] I know what it means... using weapons like that. [A swordsman had lots of rules: no retreating, no regrets. Prepare for the "worst". Maybe it's strange how he's bound to things intrinsically linked with killing. That his mentor's a Death mage. How Kasha consumes the dead. Why he's aligned himself with demons, assassins, sweetly oblivious when they've crossed the lines long ago. Facing his own tainted bloodline. He wants to save everyone; and, while this want never changes, he's shockingly accepting of things, the darker path folding out for him.

A means to an end, now. He's going to live honorably.] Anyways, thanks. [He's fumbling again. There's a lot he means to say. Doesn't. Wanting to "show" instead.]

It feels like we're going further, here. [His smile's warm again, hopeful. He's held a lot of that lately.] That sword's my way forward. You'd better be prepared for that. It won't lose to you either, Midoriya.