"The sun had perfectly eclipsed behind his hair; he wore the sun's corona itself. An angel was behind him… I assumed he must've been escorted from the Elysium beyond, or I was dreaming. But then he spoke, and I knew… 'Hello, Mother.' We couldn't have seen each other in years, I'd gained weight, but he knew, and I knew… I don't even remember how I found myself on my knees, but I wrapped my arms around his shins and bawled as hard as I could, the first thing I wanted: to beg for forgiveness…"
Mr. Sato couldn't hide his grin.
"You seem very fond of recounting something that only happened two weeks ago; you recounted it in our last session too—in even greater and striking detail of your 'begging' in particular—bah!
"Mr. Sato!!" Inko shouted in embarrassment.
"Hoho—Miss Midoriya, please forgive me, I admit that was unprofessional," said Mr. Sato, still settling down his own ruckus," Speaking of which: how have these last weeks been?"
"He's such a virtuous boy! I'm not sure I could ever take the credit in raising him…"
"Oh?"
"The first thing he did was urge me to offer flying hero, Hawks, a cup of tea— oh, where had all my sensibility gone: I really thought an angel was behind him! After Hawks declined, stating he had somewhere to be, Izuku bade him farewell while I was still clinging to his shins, screaming his name. For the rest of the day: I just couldn't leave him alone! I spoon-fed and even slept with him like a small baby, but he never seemed to mind.
The next day, when my mood had swung into one of my depressive episodes, he practically dragged me to the city park; he takes me there every day now, and we talk about—or more accurately: I mindlessly ramble on about petty nothings while he entertains me… We catch up a little bit every day. Yesterday, I told him about his memorial gravestone, and today I plan to tell him about his father and our official divorce. Oh! And we love to play dress up; by now, I must've bought three standing closets full of clothes for him…
He also cooks for me every day; he cooks the fullest and grandest meals for me— always far more than I can reasonably eat, our fridge is stuffed with leftovers.
Though I don't have the faintest clue as to where he learned, he says it makes him happy to cook; he says it fills him with purpose… I don't think there is a hint of corruption within his soul!"
"That all sounds great."
"—And it really is… it's just… Isn't it all a bit too fast?"
"What do you mean?"
"—Mr. Sato, based on your experience: shouldn't someone like Izuku be… Oh, I don't know! There is something you should know… It's tha-"
Mr. Sato cut in from an open ponder: "Yes, typically reassimilation into normalcy, especially for younger ones, is projected over many years, if ever.. it's as if—oh, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to interrupt."
"No, you're fine. What were you going to say?"
"No, I insist." Mr. Sato gesticulated with a sweeping open hand.
"Well… I enrolled him in a private all-boys school a week ago! There, I've said it! Please don't be mad: I know you specifically told me not to, and to keep him at home and monitor him for a few months, but I've also been letting him out, on his own, not too long: just one or two hours, I promise!"
Mr. Sato grimaced a face to try hiding his smile, but couldn't help himself, bursting out into stifled coughs and giggles.
"Mr. Sato!!" Miss Midoriya rose from her chair with a face beet red; Mr. Sato also rose and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What is with you today!? Why do you insist on this level of cruelty!?"
"Yes, yes: you absolutely have a right to feel slighted, believe me, it's not my intention." Mr. Sato rushed out while coughing into the ditch of his arm, "Please sit down… Ah, sorry, hold on: I should've done this from the start." Mr. Sato moved to a free chair facing her instead of the obtuse angle that was from his desk, then crossed one of his legs over the other.
"Is there something wrong?" Miss Midoriya urged.
"No, no— I sometimes forget to do this: we usually face each other like this, right?"
"Right," Miss Midoriya agreed.
"Miss Midoriya, While I appreciate you taking my advice into consideration, that's all it is. I am your private therapist; you're not obligated to follow my counsel precisely. The best source you can follow is your heart—and his issued psychiatrist, of course. If those two believe him ready, then all I am is a trailing third opinion and a safe space.
Though, if I may, I can't understand why you don't mind him going to school, you were just telling me that his speed of reassimilation is concerning, and it's as if-"
Miss Midoriya cut in: "He doesn't have a psychiatrist; he promised me he didn't need one..."
Mr. Sato tilted his head back, going into immediate ponder.
"Oh, Mr. Sato Is it that bad? Please don't joke."
"Very much so, I'm afraid."
"Oh! I'm sorry!"
"Miss Midoriya…"
"Yes, Mr. Sato?"
"Has he told you anything about those years?"
"…"
"… Miss Midoriya?"
"… The first time I tried bringing it up was 4 days after he'd arrived. He immediately shut me down and refused to talk for hours, same for the second… After the third: he made me swear I would never ask him about anything concerning those years…"
"What happened after you refused?"
"… I didn't refuse... I don't want to lose him nagging over ancient history."
"Miss Midoriya…"
"... Doctor, if I ever was, am I fit to be a mother?"
"Ms. Midoriya, as a life-long pragmatist: I don't know, but as an empiricist and hapless romantic, it is redundant to question if you are sufficiently rehabilitated."
"Rehabilitated… I never deserved to be a mother in the first place."
"Perhaps that is true, but we cannot lose ourselves to moral damnation; he'll need you to rise to the occasion... Maybe it's best if I come by for our next session, to check up on the boy and assess his constitution—if I may, I think that would be for the best."
Miss Midoriya smiled. "I think that would be for the best as well."