Suddenly finding himself somewhere in the Mojave Desert, Izuku Midoriya finds himself in an impromptu journey to find the American Dream.
In his journey, he meets 'Doctor of Journalism' Raoul Duke, finds out what exactly the American Dream entailed...
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It was somewhere just around the start of the long drive when I saw that green boy waving for a car. He was wearing some sort of green bodysuit, as if the boy had seen too much comics and decided to dress like an extra from The Incredible Hulk. I had popped a blotter on the advice of my attorney, to stave off the loneliness, he said - and didn't pay the boy's apparent greenness much mind.
I was waiting for a lonely hitchhiker like him, even if the innocence in his eyes warned me to not take him to where me and the Great Red Shark was going. But there was something about that green boy that made me feel good inside. Like it was OK to be myself around him... or perhaps an earlier cheeky sniff of cocaine had finally kicked in.
I think it was then that I realized that the Great Red Shark was the kind of car that would make any hitchhiker happy. It was big and red and shiny, and when you looked at it, all your troubles seemed so far away. It would be a crime to take this away from him.
So I stopped. And I rolled down the window of the convertible - even if the top was already off - and asked the boy where he wanted to go.
"Umm, anywhere," he said. "I'm lost."
He was young and but not too skinny, with a high-pitched voice that sounded like a chipmunk. His green hair was a little messy, but his smile was wide and warm. His gaze scanned the Great Red Shark, his eyes widening at the sheer magnificence of my steed.
"Is that a convertible, sir? I've never seen one from the pre-quirk era," he said.
I didn't catch what he said at the end, too preoccupied listening to "Sympathy for the Devil" on the tape recorder safely buckled up on the back seat, blasting at full volume.
"What's your name?" I said, trying to keep the conversation going.
"Midoriya, sir," he said. "My name is Izuku Midoriya."
I smiled. Vegas would love a foreigner. This kid was good luck and he didn't even know it. "That's a nice name. Is it Japanese?"
"Um, yes. I got a bit lost, but I'm here on an internship. Apparently."
"I see. Well, welcome to America, Midoriya. Hop in," I tap the side of the Great Red Shark, gesturing him to come in.
"America?" he said. "Really? But that's so far away from Japan."
"Vegas's right over there," I said, pointing in front of the road. "A quick burn will get us to it in no time, but we're wasting daylight. Get in already."
"Las Vegas?!" he said, his eyes opening wide. "But that's like a thousand miles away from Musutafu! Where am I?"
Now the kid was gibbering nonsense. I laughed and pulled out the map. Encircled on it was the Mint Hotel, hosting the Mint 400 which I was going to write about as soon as I got to the place.
