Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He hates the little shit for daring to get stronger.*

What right does Deku have to do that? To change? To train?

Katsuki Bakugo isn't blind, even if half the class is. He notices how Deku's gym uniform stretches tighter across his back, how he's started lapping the extras during Phys-Ed, how his wheezing and gasping have been replaced by steady, controlled breathing. What right does that quirkless loser have to act like he could ever catch up?

It shouldn't bother him. It really shouldn't.

Even if Deku's suddenly improving, even if he isn't always the last one standing now, he's still Deku. A pebble. A larger one now, sure, but still just a pebble in Katsuki's path.

So he vents. Not to Fingers and Wings—his usual cronies—but to a different idiot, the kind who wears fan merch with Katsuki's face on it. The kind he normally avoids.

Today, though, Katsuki needs someone to blow up, and this extra is fast. Fast enough to make for good target practice.

The extra likes to talk. About Katsuki's quirk, about his own. Katsuki never cared before. But something that day—maybe the looming UA entrance exams, maybe the memory of Deku daring to look down on him—makes him ask:

"What exactly is your quirk?"

The extra shrugs. "Haven't named it yet. When I touch someone with all five fingers, they kinda… go into a coma-like state. Found out by accident. My mom's still in one. That's why I wear gloves."

Bright red gloves.

Katsuki's eyes narrow, catching the color. Red like Deku's shoes. It's stupid. Everything about this is stupid.

But then an idea forms.

If Deku won't learn his place from him, maybe it's time for something different. Something that looks like an accident.

"You know, you could be a hero with that quirk," he lies, that quirk is stupid. What use is a quirk that doesn't allow you to beat up the villains? A useless quirk as far as Katsuki is concerned, but he isn't going to tell that extra that.

He lies through his teeth. It's a cheap power. One touch, and it's over? No skill, no fight. Worthless.

The extra beams. "You really think so?"

"Yeah, it's just a shame you have to wear those gloves. I bet if you took them off and used your quirk more, you'd get better at controlling it."

"You think?"

"I know," he lies again, "Trust me."

And the next day, Katsuki was happy to see the extra waving with a bare hand.

He waits until P.E., when the teacher doesn't care what anyone's doing and the class is too busy with their laps to notice.

A nudge. A push.

"Oops!" Katsuki says

And Deku crumples.

Izuku thinks he can't be blamed for ignoring Bakugo these days.

Toshinori's been talking to him. It is not just about training but also about being a hero.

The day he came in with bruises and a fresh burn from Bakugo and his cronies, Toshinori didn't let him make excuses.

Not like Mom did.

"All Might—Toshinori—if I told the teachers, they wouldn't care. They never do."

Toshinori sat him down, sighed heavily, and began, "Let me tell you a story, young Midoriya."

He set down his bottle, staring at the wall.

"There was a man back when I worked in the States. He wasn't a villain. He wasn't even a bad person—not at first. Just someone who hated being in second place. He latched onto me, said I was his friend, and followed me everywhere. And when the cameras came, he made sure to stand just a little closer. Just in frame."

Izuku blinked. "What happened?"

"He let someone die, Midoriya. Because saving them would have meant admitting he needed help. That he wasn't perfect."

Toshinori looked him in the eye.

"Your friend reminds me of him."

Izuku's throat tightened.

"But you… You remind me of the man I used to be. Idealistic. Stubborn. Willing to get up again. And I want to make sure you become a hero for the right reasons—not because you're running from the pain, but because you believe in saving people."

Izuku had cried after that. Not because it hurt, but because for the first time, someone saw him.

And because he knew… Katsuki would never see him the same way.

So, he let the fantasy of a friendship die. He trained. He avoided Katsuki at school. Focused on his laps. On controlling his breathing. On passing the UA exams.

He didn't expect Katsuki to start following him.

What did Katsuki want? Did Katsuki want him to transfer schools? That wasn't an option. Aldera was all he had. Other schools wouldn't take a quirkless kid, and even if they did, the cost was too much for his mom.

So, he kept ignoring Katsuki

He didn't expect an attack.

He didn't see the kid behind him.

Didn't feel the push.

He just… collapsed.

It feels like being toothpaste. Like someone's squeezing him through a tube.

Hearing comes back first.

"What have I told you, Nagisa? If you didn't act like a common animal, if you appreciated the attention boys give you, they wouldn't be so rough! When are you going to stop?"

Sight follows. A woman's hand gripping his wrist. But not his wrist.

It's bone-white. Thinner than his. The arm leads to a body that isn't his. Feeling comes next. The feeling of long hair swishing around his face. He feels oddly like the body he's in could be his. But it isn't.

"My name's not Nagisa," He tries.

The woman's face twists. "I'm not using that made-up name you insist on! I know what's best for my daughter. And that's not some barbarian act!"

He wants to protest, to say he doesn't know what is going on, and yet, the part of him that knows quirks thinks he knows what has happened. It's not talked about much, but body swap quirks are not an unusual phenomenon. He must have been hit with a body swap quirk. He hopes Toshinori will figure this out quickly. Because this is very awkward. What is he supposed to do? Pretend to be this Nagisa person? The part of him that has always been a people pleaser says yes. Do that. The part of him that has trained with Toshinori for 8 grueling months says he should try to find the nearest hero. He decided ultimately to do both.

"I'm sorry, Mother. You're right. I should act like a young lady."

She huffs. "Too late for apologies. The school already expelled you. But there is one—Kunugigioka. They take hopeless cases."

Izuku says nothing. Because what can he say?

Chapter Text

Toshinori had never thought about connecting with anyone as anything other than All Might. That was all people wanted was All Might. Nana had been his mentor and the closest thing he'd had to a mother after his own parents had kicked him out at ten years old because the rules for quirkless people hadn't changed since before there were quirks. Those laws had declared him an adult and nothing he said could convince his own parents to let him stay. He'd learned quickly how to defend himself, mostly from losing fights to older homeless, quirked people. He learned to put a cloth covering over his red shoes so that no one would know what he was. But most of all, he'd learned that the only person you could count on was you.

Nana had been the one to show him there was more to life than beating on the yakuza to keep them from harming the ladies of the night that looked to him to keep them safe. Nana was the one who showed him that he had the heart to be a hero; he just needed the power to back up that heart. When Nana had died, a part of his heart had died with her, a part that he never got the opportunity to mourn. And when he returned to Japan because he heard of All for One's movements becoming more public, he knew there was a possibility that if he were to end All for One, it could also be his end. It was the reason why he didn't have a 'relationship' with Mirai, no matter how much he did enjoy the younger man's company. Because he'd seen what having a family had done to Nana. How it had ruined her when she'd had to give them up. And so he'd closed his heart.

And yet, from the moment he'd walked back his disastrous words to Izuku, he'd started to see the boy as he suspected Nana might have seen him. As more than a successor. He'd been so proud of Izuku when he'd seen the beach clean two months before he'd expected the boy to finish it. So proud when Izuku had swallowed the hair with a smile even as he gagged. That pride turned to terror when he'd suggested izuku might want to use the last two months before entrance exams, learning how to use One for All and the first punch had Izuku screaming as his arm twisted.

He'd panicked and rushed Izuku to Recovery Girl because she already knew about One for All, and he hoped that she would know something about what to do. While Chiyo had been able to fix the broken limb, she had advised that they not train with One for All until they could get an expert in stockpiling quirks to take a look at Izuku and figure out what Izuku was doing wrong. In the meantime, he'd taken to showing Izuku how to throw a punch. Because even if Izuku never used One for All, he knew how much being a hero meant to izuku, and he'd grown to see the boy as his own, and he owed Izuku the chance to be a hero even if it meant Izuku could never use One for All and it would die with Toshinori.

He hadn't truly considered how his relationship with Izuku had changed until Izuku hadn't shown up for their daily training at the now clean Dagobah beach. And he worried then. Because if even one person had gotten a glimpse of the massive shockwave Izuku had set off with that first punch, it wouldn't be hard for followers of All for One to make the connection. And even though All for One was dead, it didn't mean that those followers wouldn't do something like abducting Izuku to hurt Toshinori. But he'd calmed his beating heart and gone to the boy's mother first. He had introduced himself to her as All Might's secretary at Izuku's assistance because Izuku had rightfully pointed out that it would be weird for Izuku to suddenly gain a quirk without some explanation, even if it couldn't be the full explanation yet. When he'd gotten there she was crying.

"Toshinori! I'm so glad you're here. Izuku...he's in the hospital. There was a quirk accident at his school and he's in a coma."

The words echoed in his mind. Coma. His boy was in a coma. For the next week, he went day after day, learning from the nurses how to exercise Izuku's muscles. Because he has to believe Izuku will come out of this coma, and if he loses muscle mass, he won't be able to use the quirk, which would be fine by him. But he refuses to let Izuku's hard-earned work atrophy. He learns after the second week exactly who had caused his boy's coma. The kid had been sharing in his boots when he came to the hospital.

"Are you Deku's dad?"

"No, but I am a hero."

"Oh. Well, I didn't want to say anything because I know I shouldn't have done it, but he promised that I could be a hero if I took my gloves off and practiced my quirk, and it's all my fault and I...I'm so sorry!"

"Whoah, slow down. Start from the beginning."

Fury fills him when the boy tells him through his sobs about his quirk. About the boy he admired telling him that he had a hero's quirk. About how he'd come to school without his glove on so that he could practice, and then, how the boy he'd admired had pushed him into Deku (he learns that is what his boy is called and he can't help feeling more angry, how dare they call his boy useless!). And then it's confirmed that the boy doesn't know how long his quirk remains active. The only person the boy had used his quirk on before was in a coma, still after six years.

When he tells Izuku's mother, she doesn't respond as he thought she would.

"It couldn't have been Katsuki. They're best friends. I'm sure it was an accident. But I don't know what I'm going to do about this coma situation. I don't have the kind of money to keep paying for his room at the hospital."

He surprises himself by offering to use his emergency fostering license, a thing most heroes have in case a child on a case is in need, and yet something he'd never thought he would use. And then Inko surprises him by asking him to take over Izuku's guardianship, to become Izuku's father.

"It's not that I don't love him, I do. But the fact is that I can't support him. I had thought that with the sludge villain incident, it would open Izuku's eyes to the dangers of a hero's life. If he comes out of this coma, I can't watch him kill himself over his dream."

He'd signed the paperwork that day. The next part had been calling in a favor from Tsukauchi. Because as much as he wanted to bash that child's face in for hurting his son, he couldn't do that. He had to leave the punishment to the police, whose job it was to do so. He calls in other favors to have people look at Izuku, to see if there is some way to wake his son. And yet, all he can do is wait. And then he comes in for the day, two months have passed since Izuku slipped into his coma, and he expects nothing new, though he keeps hoping. He isn't expecting to walk into the room and see Izuku holding a knife to the nurse's throat as Izuku's glassy eyes flicker from the window to the door, to the nurse, to him before recognition dawns in Izuku's eyes.

Though he is surprised when Izuku slips the knife under his hospital gown and if he didn't know better from seeing it, he'd wonder if Izuku had ever held a knife at all.

"Apologies, All Might, I thought I was somewhere else."

And toshinori can't help himself, he gathers his son up into his arms and hugs him, feeling the way Izuku stiffens as if not knowing whether to hug back or to pull the knife again, and his heart breaks again.

"It's all right now, son. Why? Because I am here."

Izuku grimaces, "Okay, so I'm not dreaming. That's good. How long have I been...out?"

"Two months, son."

"You keep calling me that. Son. Do...do you mean it?"

"But of course!"

"Oh."

And Toshinori notes that his son is acting strange. He isn't the same crybaby that he was before the hospital. But that doesn't matter. All that matters is that his son is awake, and just in time for the entrance exams. If Izuku even wants to take the exams. He doesn't care at this moment. All that matters is that Izuku was all right.

He shouldn't feel guilty. And he doesn't. It's peaceful at school now. No more mumbling behind him. No more eyes following his every move. No Deku to shadow him from homeroom to final bell like a lost puppy. It should feel good. And yet… Some part of him—some stupid, weak, extra-loving part—misses it. Misses the way someone actually cared.

The extras only worship him because he's powerful. But Deku? That nerd meant it. Even if it was annoying. Even if it was creepy. Even if it was… constant. And now? Now it's quiet. And Katsuki hates the quiet. He scowls as he kicks his desk, trying to dislodge the unease in his gut. He tells himself it's just relief. That it's good Deku's gone. Good riddance.

But the lie tastes bitter. Then a detective shows up. Worn coat, dark circles under his eyes, like he's carrying the weight of something he can't set down. Katsuki's first instinct is pride—he assumes it's about the sludge villain. He was brave, after all. The heroes on the scene said so. He didn't need their praise, but it was deserved.

Except it's not about that. He's pulled into the guidance counselor's office where the man waits, flipping through a frayed notebook with tired fingers.

"You're Bakugo Katsuki?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi," the man says. "I'm here about Midoriya Izuku. About his coma."

Katsuki frowns, arms folding defensively. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Lie," Tsukauchi says without hesitation. "My quirk—truth detection. We've already spoken with the student who triggered the incident. He said you told him his quirk was heroic, told him to go without his gloves. That you tripped him on purpose. That you smiled when Midoriya fell."

Katsuki feels something cold twist in his stomach. He clenches his fists. "What?" he snaps. "You're saying this is my fault? I didn't do anything! I was motivating him! Deku always thought he was better than me! Always looking down on me with those freakin' nerd eyes!"

The detective's voice softens—not with pity, but with something worse. Understanding. "Is that what you really think?"

"He's smart, okay?! Way too smart! Smarter than me—and he knows it. No one else notices it, but I do! Every time he gets better, I feel like I'm... less. Like I'm being replaced. Like if someone like him can get ahead, then... then what does that make me?" He's yelling now. Too loud. Too raw. He falls silent. Then adds quietly, almost bitterly: "Everyone always said I was the best. That I'd be Number One. But what if... what if he's better than me?"

Tsukauchi watches him. Doesn't speak. Doesn't need to. Katsuki folds back into himself, arms crossed again. "I didn't do anything wrong," he mutters. He's left to stew in silence until the door opens again.

And this time—this time it's him. All Might. But not the smiling, sunshine-splitting-the-clouds All Might he grew up watching. No. This All Might is stone-faced. Cold. There's no twinkle in his eye. Only steel. Katsuki swallows hard.

"All Might—!"

"Bakugo Katsuki," he says, his voice low and sharp. "Did you use your quirk against Izuku Midoriya?"

"Yes," Katsuki says, trying to sound confident, strong. "But only to show him his place! You get it! You're the best, right? That's what it means to be Number One—you prove it! You win!"

All Might just stares at him. And then he says, quiet but firm: "And yet, I've never once used my quirk to put down someone who wasn't a villain. Not once."

Katsuki opens his mouth. Closes it. All Might steps forward.

"Tell me, young Bakugo… what is it you admire most about me?"

"You're the strongest," Katsuki answers immediately. "You always win. That's what makes you the best."

All Might sighs. Deeply. Sadly. "Have you ever seen my debut video?"

"Of course. Who hasn't?"

"Then tell me what I was doing."

Katsuki blinks. "You were… saving some extras."

"Exactly," All Might says, eyes narrowing. "I wasn't fighting a villain for glory. I was rescuing people. Not because they were strong. Not because they were deserving. But because they needed a hero." He lets that hang in the air. Heavy. "Would I have saved them if a villain had been there?"

"Y-you would've beaten the villain too!" Katsuki tries.

"No. I would have gotten them to safety. Because in heroics, rescue always comes first. The people matter more than the fight. More than glory. More than winning."

Katsuki feels like the floor is tilting under him. All Might's voice softens, but the words cut deeper.

"Midoriya… loved you, Bakugo. Admired you. You were his hero. He put you on a pedestal you didn't deserve. He never looked down on you. You just couldn't stand that he had the heart of a hero, and you didn't."

"I—" Katsuki starts, but the words die in his throat.

"I'm not pressing criminal charges. Because I believe your school failed both of you. But I am filing a restraining order. You will stay away from him. If you're placed in the same class, you will request a transfer." His tone hardens. "You will also attend anger management and therapy. I'll be checking."

Katsuki's eyes widen. "You—You can't—!"

"If you fail," All Might says, voice thunderous now, "then I will treat you as the villain you've been to Midoriya. Is that clear?"

Katsuki nods. His face burns. His chest hurts. And the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that deep down, he knows All Might is right.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Because I keep getting this accusation without evidence, I would like to ask, why? I have never used nor will I ever use ChatGBT or any other AI helped for my works. What I do, is a technique I was taught as an elementary school student. It’s called stream of consciousness writing. You see, as a person with undiagnosed Autism/ADHD I had the problem of ‘too many ideas’ whenever it came time for short story writing in class. So, they tried getting me to use the ‘web method’ in which you web out your ideas, but that didn’t work for me. Then they had the bright idea to tell me ‘just write the first thing that comes to mind, after that, try to focus on that one topic’ any body who has ADHD can tell you that hyper focusing is a blessing and a curse. That is why my writing often comes across as either ‘robotic’ or ‘crazy’ because I’m either writing the first thing that comes to mind and going ‘that’s stupid’ once I read it over or it’s a jumbled mess. And secondly, have you people ever tried putting say ‘the Magna Carta’ through an AI checker? I’ll bet if you do, it comes back as ‘definitively written by AI. Rant over. TLDR; stop accusing people who spend their free time trying to get better at writing as being AI generated. 

Chapter Text

He was right about the rest of the class being wary of Aizawa, though wrong about them being 'friendly' towards him because he'd stood up to Aizawa. He'd thought that at best, he'd be reminded every moment these children were not his classmates from 3-E. He was somewhat right about that. Because even with two recommended students in his class, when he arrived at school that morning, Ochako was nervously stuttering to some reporters. He rolled his eyes, grabbed her arm, and shoved his way past the vultures, trying not to remember another time the reporters demanded to know if he and his classmates were 'brainwashed' by Korosensei.

"You didn't have to pull that hard." Ochako whined, and he wrinkled his nose.

"You were about to tell those vultures more than you'd think. You're better off ignoring them."

"I don't know what crawled up your ass and died, but you can't just yank on people! You could have said something!"

"You are correct. I could have said something." He sighs, "Look, Ururaka, I'm used to classmates who had to dodge at a moment's notice, who trusted each other to yank each other out of the line of fire. I'll try to remember to be more gentle."

Aizawa gives him a look when he sits at his desk, as if he wants to say something, but thinks better of it.

"Okay, hellions, today you'll be doing something that decides your future here at UA," everyone took a deep breath in, "You'll be choosing a class president."

"Wait, but that's a normal activity!" Kaminari laughed.

For a moment, Izuku is dragged back to another class president 'election' in which he was chosen for having the best assassination plans. He thinks he doesn't want it this time. And yet, when the votes are tallied, he is in first, with Yaoyorozu as vice president. He sighs,

'Suppose I can't fight it.'

"Thank you to those who voted for me. I will endeavor to be a good president."

And then the bell rings for lunch. He's surprised when Ururaka, Yaoyorozu, and Iida all chose to sit with him. He hasn't exactly been 'Mr. Friendly.'

"So, why'd you four vote for me?" he asks, genuinely curious.

Ururaka sputters, "Howdya know?" her accent slipping free, and then she shakes her head, "I voted for ya because of how ya saved my life during the entrance exam. Figured twas the least I could do to thank ya."

Yaoyorozu smiled, "You may be scary, but you also stood up for what was right against a teacher. Someone who can do that deserves to be class president, and I am just happy that I get to help."

Iida sighs, "I was going to vote for myself, but I can admit that when I thought about it, I realized there's a difference between what one wants and what is best for the whole. Like Yaoyorozu said, you stood up for what was right against a teacher. I...could not do that."

For a moment, he felt tears gather at the edge of his eyes. He might have been voted class president in 3-E, but only because his assassination plans had been the most terrifying. These children didn't even know him, and yet, there was an honest truth to their reasons. And then the alarm blared. Red light washed across the cafeteria, and before the others could react, Izuku was already moving. He surged to his feet, sharp as a knife, grabbing Yaoyorozu, Iida, and Ochako by their shoulders and shoving them beneath the table. His shoes clattered on the wood as he vaulted up, crouched atop their lunch like a predator. His face was all snarl, eyes narrowed, scanning for angles of attack, for exits, for threats. His classmates nearby blinked in shock — one moment a quiet, awkward boy, the next a coiled weapon.

“Stay down,” he hissed, low and certain, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. The alarm kept screaming. Footsteps thundered as students surged toward the doors, panic mounting. Izuku stayed on the table, watching. Measuring. The same cold calculation that once picked apart teachers and assassins now sliced through the chaos of the cafeteria.

Izuku’s eyes tracked the crowd as it bottlenecked at the exits. Students shoved and clawed at each other in their desperation to escape, tripping over chairs, leaving themselves wide open.

'Sloppy. Blind panic. Not a single one of them is checking corners or covering their retreat.'

His grip tightened around the hilt of his training knife, thumb pressing against the smooth edge. It wasn’t real, but the weight in his palm grounded him, reminded him of a hundred exercises where hesitation meant “death.”

'Half of them would’ve been eliminated in the first thirty seconds. No communication, no coordination. Just prey running for the slaughterhouse door.'

He crouched lower, eyes flicking from the trembling hands of Kaminari clutching his tray like a shield, to Asui’s gaze darting around like she was looking for a teacher to solve things, to some older kid who was already trying to wedge himself between fleeing classmates for cover.

The snarl on his face shifted into something colder, quieter. Detached. He could almost hear Karasuma’s voice in his head, grading their survival instincts.

'D minus. At best.'

And then he felt Yaoyorozu’s hand brush against his ankle from beneath the table — tentative, grounding. Her whisper barely carried under the alarm:

“Midoriya…?”

He blinked, the calculation snapping like a taut wire. His shoulders eased fractionally. He was back in UA, not Kunugigaoka. These weren’t assassins. They were children who’d never learned what a real attack felt like.

Izuku exhaled through his nose, forcing the knife back into its sheath. But his gaze didn’t soften.

“Idiots,” he muttered under his breath, watching the chaos at the doors. “If this had been real, half the class would already be dead.”

The alarm cut off with a sharp beep-beep! before a cheery, high-pitched voice rang through the speakers:
“Attention all students. The reporters who caused the alarm have been dealt with. Please make your way back to your classrooms in a calm and orderly fashion!”

Nedzu’s tone was far too delighted for the chaos that had just ripped through the cafeteria.

Izuku stepped down from the table, sheathing his training knife in one smooth motion. His classmates were staring at him, at each other, at the quiet beneath the blaring red lights. Yaoyorozu gave him a long, considering look as though she wanted to ask something, then shook her head and rose to her feet.

He just sighed, shoulders tight. I want this day over with.

But luck, as always, wasn’t on his side. The next class was practical heroics. 

“I’M COMING IN THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!”

Izuku groaned and almost smacked his forehead. All Might burst into the room, cape flaring dramatically, with a sleep-deprived Aizawa trailing behind him like a shadow.

“Today, class,” Aizawa muttered, “we’re starting our first heroics lesson.”

“Battle trials! But first!” boomed All Might, punching the air. “Costumes!”

Izuku rolled his eyes. Costumes. That word was for stage actors and frauds. These were uniforms, and his was built for survival, not spectacle.

The black fabric was lined and reinforced, every seam tailored with a purpose. On one side of the high collar, stitched in neat white thread, was the codename he’d once carried: Blue Viper. On the other side, the simple mark of 3-E. A half-moon rested on his chest, subtle but unmistakable. His cargo pants had deep, practical pockets. His belt carried magnetic holders for knives and the pistol Snipe had grudgingly approved — rubber bullets only, but the weight was comfort enough. Waterproof, heatproof, bulletproof, knife-resistant. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t need to be.

It was the closest he could come to what he wore in 3-E, and part of him was glad. Part of him hated the reminder.

When he stepped out of the changing room, one of the first from the boys’ side, he nearly choked.

His classmates looked like…a circus.

“You all look like heroes!” his dad declared proudly.

“They all look like targets,” Izuku muttered, loud enough to carry.

“W…what do you mean by that?” Kaminari asked nervously.

Izuku rolled his eyes. Time for a practical demonstration.

He drew his training knife in one smooth motion and stepped in front of Yaoyorozu. Before she could react, the dulled edge pressed between the exposed V of her chest.

“Boom. Dead.”

He pivoted, tapping Ojiro in the ribs.

“Boom. Dead.”

Kirishima tried to harden, but Izuku was already in his guard, the knife pressing at his liver before his quirk fully engaged.

“Too slow. Dead.”

Kaminari’s leather jacket didn’t even slow the strike.

“Dead.”

Jirou’s was no better.

“Dead.”

He slid the knife up into Iida’s exposed underarm joint before the boy could even twitch.

“Dead.”

A quick slash across Shinso’s throat.

“Dead.”

A precise jab at where Hagakure’s chest should be — her gloves and boots were useless camouflage.

“Dead.”

One by one, he dismantled them, each movement efficient, clinical. By the time he was done, the class was silent except for the echo of his boots.

Izuku flipped the knife in his grip and sheathed it.

“My knife is a training blade. It didn’t hurt you. But I bet you felt it. That was fear. If I were a real villain, you’d all be corpses right now.”

He turned his gaze on Hagakure. “Especially you. Who the hell okayed nothing but boots and gloves?”

Aizawa’s eyes snapped open wide. “Is this true, Hagakure?”

There was a nervous squeak, then the sound of boots retreating toward the girls’ locker room.

Aizawa dragged his hands down his face. “Fucking support company pervs. All of you — back into gym uniforms. Now. We’re scrapping Battle Trials.”

“What?!” All Might whined, visibly deflating. “But my lesson—”

“All Might,” Aizawa snapped, “these kids would’ve died if they fought each other in those ridiculous costumes. We’re lucky Izuku isn’t a villain, because that demonstration was pathetic.”

Izuku folded his arms, expression flat. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t have to. The lesson had already been carved into the room like a scar. He really hoped his classmates wouldn't hate him now. He was actually starting to like them. 

Chapter Text

Izuku lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His room at Might Tower was quiet, but his mind wasn’t.

The alarm. The cafeteria. The way his knife had pressed against Yaoyorozu’s chest, against Ojiro’s ribs, against Hagakure’s invisible skin. His words — boom, dead. He could still see the flicker of fear on their faces.

At the time, it had felt necessary. Better for them to see how weak their “costumes” were before a villain taught them. But now? It felt cruel. Too much like—

—like him.

Katsuki had always called people extras. Treated their fears as weaknesses to exploit. And hadn’t he done the same? Dismissing his classmates as idiots for panicking at a false alarm, stabbing them one by one to “prove” their stupidity?

He shut his eyes, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, memory dragged him backward. Back to Class 3-E. Back to that first day when he, trembling, had pulled the grenade on Korosensei because everyone had told him to. He thinks he'd been hoping it would all end — that he’d either wake up in his own room again, or not wake up at all. He’d been scared. He hadn’t known anything.

But he’d faked it. Nagisa’s mask: calm, confident, sharp-edged assassin. The mask had stuck. It was easier than being “wimpy Deku.”

Korosensei wouldn’t have done what he did today. Korosensei would’ve smiled, dodged every strike, and let them realize their mistakes themselves. He’d never shoved fear in their faces.

Izuku groaned softly, dragging a hand over his eyes.

“Apologize. I should apologize.”

He remembered being small, standing on a stool beside his mother, clumsily rolling dough into lumpy sweets. He’d carried them to school the next day, heart pounding, hoping Katsuki would stop picking on him if he just showed he wanted to be friends. The treats had ended up dumped into his hair.

“A Deku can’t do anything right,” Katsuki had sneered.

That memory still hurt, but maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, someone would listen.

Either way, he owed it to Korosensei—and to the boy he was before Nagisa—to let the mask slide down, even a little. To let these new classmates see him. To let them in. If any of them turned out like Katsuki? Well… he wasn’t defenseless anymore. He had his quirk. He had his training. And if nothing else, Aizawa wasn’t the type to just sit back and watch while someone got beat down.

New classmates, new school, new me. Remember that, Izuku.

And if it helped that he now had the ridiculous memory of All Might trying to make sweets—ending up with flour in his hair, frosting smeared across his face, the kitchen looking like a warzone—well, that was something worth keeping.

When the class filed in the next morning, Izuku stood with a plate in his hands, offering out a sweet to each person who passed.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said once everyone had gathered. His voice shook, but he kept going. “I spent most of my life being pushed down, and I… I learned to push back. To see everyone as a threat. But you’re not. You’re my classmates. My future partners. I should treat you that way.”

“That’s so manly!” Kirishima cheered.

Yaoyorozu gave him a thoughtful look. “It was a little terrifying, having you put that knife so close to my throat,” she admitted, “but it did make me rethink my costume. Hagakure and I both have new designs ordered—something we wouldn’t have considered without your… very blunt demonstration. The method may have been questionable, but I can see the care behind it. Consider yourself forgiven.”

The knot in Izuku’s stomach loosened, just a little.

Aizawa gave the day’s instructions with his usual bored tone, but Izuku caught the glint in his eye—the flicker of pride that Izuku had asked permission instead of barging ahead. It was only a start, but it felt like one.

When Aizawa announced they were heading on a field trip, though, Danger Sense whispered sharply and low at the back of Izuku’s skull. He froze. Not again. Not like Aldera, where teachers had “forgotten” him. Not like Class 3-E, where a field trip had turned into a nightmare of kidnapping and blood.

Yaoyorozu noticed his hesitation at the bus. “You’ve been tense since the announcement. What’s wrong?”

“Can’t say, really. Just… a bad feeling.”

“I could tell Aizawa. If you’re unwell, maybe you shouldn’t—”

“No. I should go. Rescue’s one of the reasons I want to be a hero.” He forced himself to smile. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll tell Aizawa. Promise.”

That was that. Still, as the bus rumbled along, Izuku pressed his palms together, trying to shove Nagisa’s instincts deep, deep down. No knives. No rifles. No Karasuma-sensei. Just Izuku. Just his classmates.

When they finally arrived, Uraraka squealed, “Ohmygosh, it’s Thirteen!”

Izuku winced at her pitch. Was that what he’d sounded like to Katsuki all those years?

Thirteen launched into their speech, describing the USJ and the principles of rescue. Izuku found himself wishing Aldera had ever taught something like this. Maybe then… maybe things with Katsuki would’ve been different.

And then—white-hot pain split behind his eyes. Danger Sense screamed.

He looked past Thirteen just as the air behind them twisted, a black void tearing open in the middle of the plaza. His stomach dropped.

“There’s something wrong,” he whispered. His eyes snapped to Aizawa. “We should move.”

“What, the simulation’s starting already?” someone joked.

But then a man stepped out of the void, pale hands curled over his face, followed by an army of twisted figures.

“That’s no simulation,” Izuku said.

Aizawa’s scarf snapped loose, ready. “Those are villains.” His voice cut sharply and steadily. “Thirteen—protect the students. Everyone else, stick together. Get back to the bus or call the main school. If you’re separated, use your quirks only to defend yourselves. Don’t engage unless you have no choice.”

“You heard him! Move!” Izuku barked, slipping into the role before he could stop himself. Knife twirling in his grip, body tensed for a fight.

Too late.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave,” the hand-faced man drawled. “The boss wants everyone to see his debut.”

Izuku’s pulse hammered. He should’ve known. He should’ve known.

So much for a normal field trip.