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Chapter Text

Is this really how it ends?

The sludge villain's mass pressed against Izuku's lungs, forcing its way down his throat. Everything was going dark, and all he could think about was how pathetic this was. Fourteen years of dreaming about being a hero, and he was going to die in an underpass because he couldn't even run fast enough.

Guess Kacchan was right... I really am useless.

But as consciousness slipped away, something else flickered in his mind. A story he had found after overhearing All Might one time... One he used to tell himself when the other kids called him worthless. A story about four friends who never wanted to be heroes at all.

About the origin of the power commonly known as Sparks.

We all know about the Glowing Baby- the birth of Quirks in Qing Qing City, China. But do you know about what came after the Quirk Wars ended?

There were four kids in a small town outside Tokyo: Sukui, Pip, Riko, and Jae. Three of them were Quirkless. One had a minor squirrel-type mutation that barely counted. They weren't dreaming of being heroes- the concept was still too new, too strange. Instead, they wanted to be detectives, calling their club SPARK.

They solved neighborhood mysteries. Missing cats, stolen bikes, who was leaving graffiti on the school walls. Kid stuff. Sukui always carried around cookie-shaped shuriken she'd made in home economics- nervous fidgeting, she claimed, but they were perfectly weighted and sharp enough to stick in cork boards. Pip doodled constantly in the margins of his notebooks, little sketches of shields and swords and armor that the teachers thought were just daydreaming, but if you looked closely, you could see the careful attention to proportion and detail. Riko was the one who'd march right up to bullies twice her size, all righteous fury and clenched fists that never seemed to pack much punch- until that day. And Jae... quiet Jae just listened. He was the one kids came to when they were hurt, somehow always knowing exactly what to say to make the tears stop, his hands gentle when he helped bandage scraped knees.

They never imagined their spark would light up the world.

Everything changed on a Tuesday afternoon in October, during their second year at Sakura High School.

A mutant villain- bear-type, massive claws, standing nearly three meters tall with fur that looked more like steel wool- was cornered outside the school gates by an anti-mutant protest group. Someone had called him a "freak," and things escalated when a protester threw a brick that hit him square in the shoulder. The villain's quirk flared in panic and rage- earth-shaking tremors that sent cracks spider-webbing through the school building's foundation. The chemistry lab on the second floor started leaking something that made the air burn your throat and eyes. One of the protesters, a man with wild eyes and a "Humans First" armband, had a quirk-enhancing ability that amplified every power in a fifty-meter radius, turning manageable quirks into disasters.

The bear-mutant's roar shattered every window on the first floor. Students were screaming, running, crying. Teachers were trying to evacuate but the main stairwell was blocked by rubble.

And then four ordinary kids did something extraordinary.

Pip grabbed his math homework- covered in doodles of medieval shields drawn in blue ballpoint pen-a nd somehow, impossibly, his sketch of a massive tower shield ripped itself off the paper. It materialized in brilliant detail just as chunks of concrete rained down on fleeing students. The thing was huge, easily four meters across and two meters tall, with intricate Celtic knots around the edges just like in his drawing. It held against debris that should have pulverized it, each impact ringing like a bell.

Sukui pulled her cookie-shaped throwing stars from her bag- she always carried at least a dozen, made from actual cookies from her grandmother's recipe. In desperation, she hurled them at a steel support beam that was groaning, about to collapse on a group of first-years. The little stars suddenly blazed with white-hot edges as they spun, slicing clean through the beam like it was butter. The metal edges left perfect cuts that still steamed in the cold October air.

Riko saw a girl trapped under a collapsed section of the courtyard wall- had to weigh at least two tons of concrete and rebar. Without thinking, she grabbed the edge and lifted. Strength surged through her muscles, her sneakers cracking the pavement from the force as she raised the entire section over her head like it weighed nothing.

And Jae- gentle, quiet Jae- ran toward the injured instead of away. A third-year girl named Tanaka had a compound fracture, her leg bent at an impossible angle, bone sticking through her uniform skirt, blood spreading across the concrete. Jae dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering over the wound. "It's okay," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "You're going to be okay." And somehow, impossibly, she was. The bone slid back into place, the flesh knitting together, skin smoothing over like it had never been broken. Tanaka stared down at her perfectly healed leg, then up at Jae's green eyes, wide with wonder and terror.

But here's what made them different from every other hero that day: they didn't just stop the villain. They helped him.

While everyone else was running, while the newly fledged pro heroes were still en route, Jae walked right up to the massive bear-mutant- this terrifying figure that had the entire crowd screaming in fear- and started talking. Just... talking. His voice was steady despite the tears on his cheeks.

"You didn't mean for this to happen," he said, standing barely a meter away from claws that could have torn him in half. "You're scared. They hurt you first, didn't they? With that brick?"

The bear-mutant stopped mid-roar, staring down at this tiny human who wasn't running, wasn't screaming, wasn't looking at him like he was a monster.

"My name's Jae," the boy continued. "What's yours?"

"K...Koji," the villain rumbled, his voice thick with confusion and pain.

"Koji. That's a nice name. Koji, I know you're hurting, but these people- they're just kids like me. They're scared too. Can you help me make sure everyone's okay?"

And that's how Koji- who would become The Bear Hero: Roar- spent the next hour helping four high school kids dig survivors out of the rubble, his massive claws gentle as he moved debris that would have taken rescue crews hours to clear.

That was the beginning of the Second Quirk Wave. Emergent Quirks- powers that manifested not from genetics, but from desperate need, from the drive to protect others. Sparks.

Team SPARK became legends. They changed how the world thought about heroes, about villains, about second chances.

And then, five years before All Might would debut as the world's greatest hero, they vanished without a trace.

Present day...

The sludge pressed deeper into Izuku's throat, but now he held onto that story like a lifeline. Team SPARK had been ordinary kids too. Quirkless kids who found their power when it mattered most.

Maybe... maybe I can still...

His vision went black.

My name is Izuku Midoriya.

And someday, somehow, I'm going to find my Spark.

If I survive this.

Chapter Text

Wha...

Izuku blinked, his vision swimming between darkness and hazy light. Am I alive? A few more blinks, the world slowly coming into focus. Wait, is that...

"ALL MIGHT!"

Izuku shot upright, more awake than he'd ever been in his life.

"Notebook... notebook... Where is my- HE ALREADY SIGNED IT?!" Izuku's voice cracked with disbelief as he clutched the precious pages. "Thank you so much!" He bowed so deeply he nearly toppled over. "I'll cherish this forever! It'll be a family heirloom!"

All Might chuckled, that familiar booming laugh that made everything seem okay. "I must be going!" he announced, already turning away. "I've called an ambulance for you. Please wait for medical assistance!"

Wait, Izuku's heart lurched. He's leaving? But I have to ask...

Without thinking, desperation overriding common sense, Izuku reached out and grabbed All Might's sleeve. He had to know. He had to ask that question- the one that had been eating at him his entire life.

But All Might was mid-jump, launching himself skyward, the sleeve became a pant leg, and All Might didn't notice his passenger until they were already soaring through the Tokyo skyline.

The wind hit Izuku's face like a slap, fierce and cold, stealing his breath. The city sprawled below them in a dizzying maze of lights and movement- cars like crawling beetles, people reduced to dots. The roar of traffic and life became a distant hum, replaced by the howling rush of air and his own hammering heartbeat. All Might's grip on his sleeve was iron-strong, the hero's massive hand completely engulfing Izuku's arm, but even that solid anchor couldn't stop the terror clawing at his chest.

I'm going to fall. I'm going to die. This is how it ends- not from a villain, but from my own stupidity.

Two near-death experiences in one day?

But beneath the terror, something else flickered. This is what it feels like. Flying. Being a hero. This is what I've always dreamed of.

"Hey hey!" All Might exclaimed, finally noticing his unwilling stowaway. "I love my fans, but isn't this a bit much?"

"I didn't mean to!" Izuku cried, fear and tears streaming down his face as the ground rushed by far below. The wind whipped his words away, but somehow All Might heard them. "But if I let go now, I'll die!"

All those times students said I should jump off the roof... all those times teachers looked right through me when I raised my hand... I never thought I'd actually be this high up, clinging to life by a thread. I'm proving everyone right that I'm just... a useless Deku.

With a sigh and what sounded suspiciously like a mutter of "kids these days," All Might adjusted his grip, pulling Izuku securely against his side. "Hold on tight! I'll find us a safe place to land!"

They touched down on a rooftop garden, Izuku's legs immediately giving out as solid ground met his feet. The scent of flowers and herbs filled his nostrils- such a stark contrast to the metallic taste of fear still coating his tongue.

All Might immediately stepped back, running a hand through his distinctive hair- a gesture so unexpectedly normal it made him seem almost human. "That was very reckless, young man! Now I really must be going."

"I'm so sorry!" Izuku bowed frantically, his notebook clutched against his chest like armor. "I really didn't mean to! I just- I wanted to ask you a question!"

All Might had already turned away, steam beginning to curl from his frame, when he hesitated mid-step. His broad shoulders tensed slightly.

"A question?"

Izuku's throat felt dry, but he forced the words out. The question that had haunted every sleepless night, every moment of doubt, every time someone looked at him with pity or dismissal.  "You see, I've looked up to heroes my whole life! I grew up watching videos of you saving people, and I want to do that more than anything!"

More than breathing. More than living. It's the only thing that's ever made sense.

Even when the guidance counselor said I should be "realistic." Even when classmates snickered behind my back. Even when everyone- teachers, 'friends,' strangers- looked at me like I was delusional for even trying.

His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "But... I'm Quirkless. I have no Spark. Can... can I still be a hero?"

The question hung in the air between them like a fragile soap bubble, ready to burst.

All Might went very still. The steam around him seemed to thicken, and his hands slowly clenched into fists at his sides. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its booming quality- quieter now, more human somehow.

"You... want to be a hero?" he echoed, the words careful, measured.

Izuku nodded so hard his neck hurt. "More than anything."

For a second there was silence and Izuku feared that this would be it- a final blow to his house of cards. Or worse, pity. Empty words he couldn’t stand to hear. Maybe it’d be better to run before the legend could answer.

But then All Might's shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and something more broken.

The moment made Izuku pause as the silence stretched until Izuku thought he might burst from the tension.

"You know," All Might said finally, his voice barely above a murmur. He turned back around, and Izuku was startled to see something raw in the hero's eyes. "When I was your age... I was Quirkless too."

Izuku's world tilted. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out.

"I met someone once." All Might's smile turned self-deprecating, distant. He brushed his thumb against his temple, a small gesture that somehow made him look younger. "One of the Sparks. Jae. I was nobody back then. Just a kid- younger than you are now, actually. Twelve years old and convinced I was broken."

His eyes focused on something far away, something only he could see. His fists unclenched, hands hanging loose at his sides.

"I asked him the same question you just asked me."

All Might swallowed hard, and for a moment, the Symbol of Peace looked like nothing more than a man carrying the weight of old memories. Steam continued to pour from his frame, but his posture had changed- less towering symbol, more tired human.

"He told me..." His voice grew softer, like he was sharing something sacred. "'There is no such thing as Sparkless. Everyone has a spark in them- something that lights the fire of their passion, that makes them who they are. Sure, some of our sparks are more visible, more obvious. But that doesn't mean you can't make a difference. Be yourself, put the best you forward. Even if your Spark is never seen... it can still bring warmth to others.'"

Izuku's eyes went wide, his heart hammering against his ribs. Warmth to others. Even without a Quirk, even without a visible Spark...

"I held onto those words," All Might continued, steam now pouring off him more rapidly. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to dislodge painful memories. "Right up until I got my Quirk. Until I didn't think I needed to believe them anymore."

Something cracked behind All Might's smile, something raw and honest. His hand moved to his side, fingers pressing against his ribs in a gesture that looked unconscious, pained.

"But you-" He looked directly at Izuku, and the boy felt like he was being truly seen for the first time in his life. "You still do need to believe it."

"I... I do believe it," Izuku whispered, the words feeling like a promise, like an oath. "I have to."

Because if I don't, what else is there? Ten years of being told I'm not good enough, not special enough, not enough... If I can't believe in my own spark, then everyone who ever said I was worthless was right. Then every dream I've ever had really is just pathetic delusion.

All Might stepped back, the steam now billowing around him like fog. His form was already becoming indistinct. "Then keep believing, kid." His voice was fading, becoming distant again. "For both our sakes."

With a final puff of smoke, All Might was gone.

Izuku stood there alone on the rooftop, his heart hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears. His fingers tightened around his notebook until his knuckles went white, the signed pages crinkling slightly under the pressure.

There is no such thing as Sparkless.

The words echoed in his chest like a heartbeat, like a promise he intended to keep.

Chapter Text

Izuku practically bounced with every step.

He was going to be a hero.

He was going to be a hero.

He wanted to laugh, shout, throw his arms wide and tell the whole world. His chest was full to bursting- not just with hope, but with certainty. All Might believed in him. Said the words. There is no such thing as Sparkless.

He pressed a hand to his chest. It almost felt warm. Like a real spark was flickering inside him- not a flashy power, but something even better. His own passion.

Then an explosion rumbled through the street.

Izuku blinked. Turned toward the sound.

Explosions weren’t uncommon. Villain attacks happened all the time. Sometimes people trained too hard, or a pro hero had to act fast. Maybe it was even someone testing their quirk- he could log it! New entry for the Hero Analysis notebook?

He jogged toward the noise.

Another blast shook the air. That one sounded kind of... familiar.

No. No, that was dumb. Kacchan wouldn’t be causing a scene. Not now. Not so close to the UA exams. He was smarter than that. Probably just some new upstart hero debuting in town- someone Kacchan would end up admiring.

Yeah.

Izuku turned the corner.

And everything stopped.

Smoke. Fire. Sludge. And in the middle of it-

“Kacchan?”

His stomach dropped like a stone.

No, no, no.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t look away from the writhing mess of sludge and the frantic blasts barely breaking free of it.

Kacchan was trapped.

And the villain- he recognized it. That shape. That face .

The Sludge Villain. The bottle. The bottle All Might had in his pocke-

This is my fault.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. The elation, the pride- it shattered.

He’d distracted All Might. He’d wasted time. And now-

Kacchan is in danger.

Tears welled up in his eyes, hot and fast and blinding.

Mount Lady came skidding onto the scene- then winced, backing off with a sheepish wave.

"Sorry! Street’s too narrow, I’d do more damage than good!"

Kacchan is in danger

More heroes circled. 

“My quirk’s no good here,” Deatharms muttered.

“Too risky with all the fire,” Kamui Woods agreed.

They were waiting. Waiting for the right move. The perfect moment.

But Kacchan couldn’t wait.

I t'll only hurt for about 45 seconds the Sludge Villain had told him...

Kacchan is in danger

Their eyes met. Just for a second.

Kacchan’s eyes were wide, bloodshot, terrified.

Izuku moved.

His feet slammed against the pavement.

In one fluid motion he ripped a pencil from his backpack and threw. 

Please work

It struck the Sludge Villain square in the eye, eraser first. 

“Why you-!” the villain roared.

Izuku didn’t wait for him to finish. 

Kacchan was dying.

But...

If he could switch places...

It would reset the clock.

A breath. A heartbeat. That might be all Kacchan needed.

Please.

He dove.

The sludge hit like a wall.

Cold.

Oily.

In his nose. In his mouth.

Too thick to scream.

Then-

something burst free.

Kacchan.

Chapter Text

Something beeped.

Then again.

Too loud. Too sharp. Too... clean.

Izuku blinked up. White lights. sterile ceiling tiles. A  nurse leaned over him with wide eyes and a clipboard.

Alive...

He was... Alive?

“Kacchan”

His voice cracked like a snapped pencil.

"Easy now," said a nurse. "You're safe. You're in the hospital. Deep oxygen deprivation, minor burns, exhaustion... frankly, it's a miracle you're awake this soon."

“Kacchan,” he croaked again, struggling to sit up. “Is he- he got out, right? I-I switched places, he should’ve-did they-?”

The nurse set the clipboard down and gently pushed him back. “I need to know who you mean-his full name, okay?”

He stared at her. His throat was raw.

“Bakugo,” he whispered. “Katsuki Bakugo. He was- he was in the sludge. Did he-?”

Something inside him was folding in on itself. Trembling.

The nurse’s expression softened.

“He’s fine. Banged up, but stable. The doctors are with him now.”

Izuku slumped back against the pillows, a strangled, relieved sob catching in his chest.

“Good,” he mumbled. “Good. That’s good.”

A flood of relief washed through him. He remembered the sludge. The heat. The weight. The way he couldn’t breathe 

And -

“Someone else wants to see you,” the nurse added, snapping him from his memories. “He wouldn’t leave your side.”

Before Izuku could ask, the door opened.

A tall, gaunt man stepped through. He looked like he'd been chewed up and spit out. Hollow cheeks. Eyes sunken. Clothes hanging off too-thin shoulders.

Izuku blinked with confusion. Who... ?

He didn’t know this man.

But somehow… somehow, he felt like he should .

“Young man.” he paused. “ That was very reckless. ”

Izuku watched, confused, as the nurse slipped out and gently shut the door.

Wasn't that-?

“But I stand by what I said. Your Spark’s warmth can still be felt!”

All Might?

Steam hissed softly from the man’s shoulders.

“And with that being said,” he continued, straightening, “I’d like to offer to train you!”

In a rush of steam and heat, the frail figure burst outward- into muscle, into light, into glory. 

All Might stood before him. Beaming.

“I ACCEPT!” Izuku shouted before his brain caught up. This was All Might!

But the smile softened, and with a deflating hiss, the hero shrank again. His voice lower. More grounded. More real. .

“…But, young man…”

He looked at the IV. The bruises. The haunted eyes.

“…We need to get you some therapy.” A pause. “Self-sacrifice can’t be your go-to.”
He sighed, then knocked lightly on Izuku’s head. “You’ve got a good heart. But you’ve also got a good brain. Use both.”

There was a pause.

“…By the way,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “what is your name, anyway?”

Chapter Text

Izuku had expected All Might to be tougher- louder, maybe. More relentless. Instead, the Symbol of Peace stood nearby, muttering to himself like he’d just solved a mystery.

“He’s not the grueling task I expected…”

Izuku couldn’t quite make it out, focused as he was on crunch number… whatever. Somewhere in the hundreds. He was panting, sore, but still going. Five kilometers of running already done, and he hadn’t collapsed yet. That felt like a win.

“All right!” All Might called, louder this time. Izuku’s head snapped up, startled. “That’s enough of that. I see you don’t need to be fixed-you need to be refined .”

"Izuku blinked, sweat stinging his eyes. Refined? His breath caught-he hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that until the words landed.

All Might’s expression softened. “That being said, I don’t really have a refinement plan in place for you yet.”

He patted the sand beside him, and Izuku, after a moment’s hesitation, scurried over and plopped down. Muscles trembling. Heart hammering.

“You must be wondering,” All Might said, a bit more serious now, “why I’m assessing you out here. On this old trash beach.”

Izuku nodded slowly. He’d wondered about that all day. But he hadn’t wanted to question it-hadn’t wanted to risk seeming ungrateful.

“Being a hero,” All Might continued, “isn’t about glory. It’s not about power. At its core, heroism is service. Community service.”

He draped a powerful arm over Izuku’s narrow shoulders. The gesture was warm. Grounding.

“It’s helping an old woman carry groceries. It’s standing between a kid and a bully. It’s cleaning up after the battle even when no one’s watching. A true hero isn’t chasing fame-they’re lifting others up.”

Izuku stared at the ocean for a beat, heart thudding, the words echoing in his chest like a bell rung just for him.

“And that’s,” All Might added, gesturing grandly toward the mound of junk beside them, “why you’ll be cleaning up this beach!”

Izuku’s brain whirred. Wait, what?

“But only when I’m not around to train you directly,” All Might added quickly, already pulling out a pair of gloves. “There’s more to being a hero than muscles and good deeds- and we’ve only got ten months to hone your edge before the entrance exams!”

He accepted the gloves like sacred relics. He barely stopped himself from sprinting into the junk pile screaming, “I’ll make you proud, sensei!”

“Wait, Young Izuku!” All Might called. “Safety first!”

And that’s how it started.

After that day, Izuku could be found on the beach almost every morning. Hauling, sorting, sweating. Training. All Might couldn’t always be there-he was a full-time hero, after all-but he came when he could. Saturdays, mostly.

Those Saturdays became something special. 

Sometimes they’d go running together, talking about Izuku’s hero analysis notebooks. He didn’t think they were creepy

Sometimes All Might would throw out hypothetical villain scenarios, and Izuku would puzzle through them while dragging tires or hurling broken appliances. 

He is such a good mentor helping me with my analysis. And what he said about lifting with the legs! So inspirational! 

Once, Izuku asked if he could learn parkour. All Might agreed- then sheepishly admitted halfway through that he didn’t actually know how. He’d never really needed it.

But he taught other things. How to stretch properly. How to punch without wrecking your wrist. How to take a punch without crumpling. How to breathe through pain. How to keep moving. How to rest.

Then, one Saturday, someone new appeared on the beach-tall, sharp-eyed, coat flapping like something out of a noir film. A different kind of mystery.

Tsukauchi-Sensei.

He didn’t shout like All Might. Didn’t train muscles. He trained thought.

Although there was that one weird conversation Izuku still didn’t fully understand about sewage...

---

It happened after a Saturday training session. All Might had just left, and Izuku was halfway through sorting glass when he noticed Tsukauchi-Sensei standing there holding coffee like his life depended on it.

“Midoriya,” said the man.

“Y-yes?”

Detective Tsukauchi didn’t smile. He just sipped from a travel mug and stared like he was trying to solve a particularly upsetting riddle. Or possibly a plumbing issue.

There was a long pause.

Then he said: “You haven’t been going into the sewer pipes alone, have you?”

Izuku blinked. “Um. No?”

A sip.

“Good. Don’t. That’s how it starts.”

“How what starts?”

Another sip. He didn’t elaborate.

“…Okay,” Izuku said, uncertain if this was advice or a threat or both.

Tsukauchi continued, “Look. You’re putting in the work. I respect that. But if you get a staph infection or a stress fracture, I have to be the one to emotionally babysit Yagi. And that man has the coping skills of a wet napkin.”

Izuku nodded slowly, trying to understand. “So… no… sewage?”

Tsukauchi leaned closer, very serious. “And take rest days. And wear your safety equipment. No Tetanus..”

Then he turned and left.

Izuku stared at the spot where he’d been, unsure if he’d just been warned, mentored, or mildly cursed.

“…Right,” he said out loud. “No sewage. No Tetanus.”

---

Beyond the weird safety talks, Tsukauchi-Sensei brought training cases and questions. He challenged Izuku to think, not just train. To consider justice, not just villains. Rehabilitation. Prevention. People.

After that, Nasanoma showed up once or twice a month. And Izuku began to thrive . Between sweat and sand, trash and trials, he found purpose. Strength. Hope.

Nine months passed faster than he could believe.

The beach changed with him. What once was a wasteland grew clean and bright. A place with definition. With meaning. A mirror of the boy who had shaped it.

And then-one crisp morning, All Might arrived early. Dressed in a nice button down shirt.

Izuku was stretching, mid-sunrise, when his mentor called him over. A carefully wrapped bento sat between them.

“Young Izuku,” All Might said, solemn and proud, “you have proven something without a shadow of a doubt- you are a hero.”

Izuku froze, halfway to sitting. “I-wha-” He started to stammer a denial, but All Might raised a hand.

“No. This isn’t about modesty. This is about truth. You don’t wait for someone else to do what’s right. You act.”

They sat in silence for a beat. The waves whispered against the shore. Then All Might spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’ve been thinking about a question. A hard one. And I don’t want an answer today.”

Izuku frowned, confused, heart suddenly pounding in his throat.

“If you could have a Quirk-or a Spark-would you want one?”

Izuku blinked.

The words hit like a sucker punch.

Would I…?

The answer caught behind his teeth, half-formed and too heavy to speak.

He couldn’t say. Not yet.

All Might looked out toward the ocean, voice heavy with something old. Something vast.

“Young Izuku…” He drew in a breath and sat a little straighter.

“What I’m really asking is: would you want my power?”

Chapter Text

Izuku inhaled slowly.

Four seconds in.

He could hear the others shifting beside him. Nervous. Waiting for the doors to split open. For the test to start.

Hold for seven.

Enemy robots. Weak joints? Switches to power them off...

Eight seconds out.

There are a lot of quirks here... potential for mishaps?

Again.

Get in, find a weapon, target the joints, find the switches, protect the students .

“BEGIN!” Present Mic’s voice shattered the silence, jolting Izuku a half-step off rhythm.

But only for a moment.

His eyes snapped to the doors as they began to part- and then he was sprinting forward.

Izuku scans the field.

One-pointer. Lightweight. Low stability in the knee joints. Slow turn radius.

He sprints straight at it. At the last second, he veers, drawing its attention to its left side.

As it begins to turn, he jumps.

Hands catch a low-hanging awning strut. Momentum swings him upward and over the robot’s shoulder.

He drops onto its back, wraps his arms around its neck, and uses his whole body to shift his weight.

It starts to fall, but then regains its balance.

Izuku kicks hard near the joint. 

It crashes to the ground.

That’s one!

Izuku’s eyes flash as he notices a bent and broken stop sign, one that fell during their fight. Eyes alight, he picks it up A weapon! Even as other students start streaming in, he feels good about his chances. I can do this!

Izuku sticks to the outskirts of the battlefield - he can’t compete with those who have flashy powers, but there are plenty of bots hiding in the shadows. A few times he even pulls others out of danger, a misfired quirk here. A robot sneaking up behind someone there. Nothing much, just a few seconds of his time to prevent injuries.

He slowly but steadily racks up his points, two, five, seven, eight. The number climbs. But suddenly at nineteen  he hears others start vocalizing their numbers “Twenty six already!” one shouts “That’s thirty-two” another voice adds. I’m falling behind - I have to catch up! He spots a three-pointer and gets ready to take it down when...

Rumbles.

The ground shakes.

The world seems to tilt.

Is that... the zero pointer? 

I... I better stay away! 

Izuku turns back to the three-pointer he was about to ambush when he hears it.

A cry for help.

It’s that nice girl! 

She’s trapped!

Izuku hesitates for a moment, glances once more at the three-pointer. His resolve firms as he turns away.

He sprints towards the danger

There isn’t enough time to help her free - he’s too far away

There is only one choice

The Spark ignites

He 

J U M P S

Legs now broken as he grins and bares the pain, shouting 

“SMAAAAAAAAAAAASH”

Chapter Text

All Might had faced villains strong enough to level city blocks. He had stared down death more times than he could count. But nothing- nothing- compared to the absolute terror of realizing he had told a quirkless child,
"There is no such thing as Sparkless"
and the child believed him.

Yagi adjusted his scarf like it might strangle the guilt out of him.
He jumped into a sewage monster. A literal sewage monster.
No hesitation. No plan. Just… freckled rage and zero self-preservation.

What have I done?

He couldn’t take it back. Couldn’t walk it back now and say, “Sorry kid, I meant that metaphorically.” That look on the boy’s face- wide-eyed, trembling, hopeful- Yagi had seen it before … in the mirror, when he was younger and equally stupid.

And if he walked away now, the kid would find the next murderbot on the street and yeet himself into it with a smile.

Dear god. He’s going to hurl himself into a bullet someday.
Or a villain with buzzsaws for hands.
Or-

“Broccoli child,” Yagi whispered under his breath, watching the heart monitor beep  “You’re going to kill me.”

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 6:41 PM

I told a quirkless kid he could be a hero
and he immediately YEETED HIMSELF INTO SEWAGE TO SAVE SOMEONE
HELP
he’s like a raccoon made of sunshine and self-harm
I said “you can do it” and he thought I meant “right now”
I think I accidentally unlocked a deathwish
he said “I believe it” like I gave him the moon
how do I un-say inspiration???
how do I make a child not believe in themselves
he’s gonna die
he’s gonna die in a storm drain trying to rescue a possum or something.

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then reappeared again.

He waited like a man due for the gallows.

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 6:45 PM

you what.
you told a quirkless child he could be a hero and you DIDN’T clarify “after intensive training”?
yagi.
I thought we agreed you weren’t allowed to inspire anyone unsupervised

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 6:46 PM

HE LOOKED SO SAD
HE WAS GONNA WALK OFF THE ROO
WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO
NOT INSPIRE HIM????

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 6:50 PM

yes.
that was exactly what you were supposed to do.
you were supposed to call me.
or Recovery Girl. or Nezu. or literally anyone with functioning judgment.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 6:52 PM

I thought he was fine
THEN HE RAN INTO A PILE OF GOO THAT THOUGT IT WAS A VILLAIN
I THINK I’M IN HELL

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 6:59 PM

okay. okay. breathe.
this is salvageable.
you’re going to start a long-term plan.
you’re going to supervise every second.
you’re going to start with picking up beach trash.
it’ll look symbolic. it’s just cardio. he can’t die from cardio.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT —:48 PM

oh thank god
he’ll think that’s deep
I took a look at his notebook
he loves metaphors

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 8:51 PM

look
just take him to a beach
let him jog a little
pick up litter
maybe get a tan
something wholesome and manageable
I swear to god Yagi if he bleeds again I’m sewing a leash into your cape

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 8:52 PM

got it.
training montage.
beach.
cardio + public service.
symbolism.
I know just the place

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 8:53 PM

cool
just like… a beach
a nice one
one with sand
and birds
and no tetanus
And for the sake of my sanity, get him therapy.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 8:53 PM

absolutely
100%
Oh hey, the kids waking up now, I’ll check in later.

Therapy. I can do that. And no tetanus... Yagi thought to himself as he put away his phone and got ready to meet the kid. Better get some gloves...

----

Seeing Young Izuku go at it like a feral racoon on that trash beach only ratcheted up his panic to 11.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 7:02 AM

ok but real talk
i thought this kid was like
a twinkly little math goblin
but he LIFTS??
like 5k runs every morning lifts
does he even need me?? what do i DO now???

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 7:04 AM

teach him how to not die, Yagi.
that’s what you do.
or do you want him to punch a villain and get turned into sidewalk paste?

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 7:06 AM

i thought i was getting a fragile nerdling
i was READY to be gentle
now he’s doing crunches like he’s training for war
HE ASKED ME IF THE BEACH WOULD BE A GOOD SPARRING TERRAIN
I GAVE HIM GLOVES BECAUSE YOU SAID NO TETANUS

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 7:08 AM

Good. You remembered the gloves.
Now: stop thinking he only needs muscles. He needs judgment too.
He’s a Sparkless kid, not a side of beef. You need to train his brain.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT —7:08 AM

I’m listening.
...Panicking, but listening.

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 7:10 AM

Then start giving him drills he can’t brute-force.
Hypothetical villain scenarios
Rescue vs. capture dilemmas
Time-limited strategy puzzles
Make him think, Yagi. Build his instincts before he builds a back problem.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 7:12 AM
So… less push-ups, more puzzles?

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED —7:20 AM
Exactly. And talk to him. See how he analyzes things.
If he’s gonna be a hero, he needs more than muscles and hope.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT —7:21 AM
...I just set him on practicing punches with a fridge...

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 7:22 AM
You’re lucky he’s not dead.
Start stretching his brain or I will show up and do it for you.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 7:23 AM
Okay okay okay
Training upgrade. Got it.
Muscles and morals.
Brain and biceps.

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 7:35 AM
There you go.
Now go inspire him without inspiring death.

Morals and Brains. I can do this.

It was all going well until he got called in for an emergency situation in Toyko on a mentorship day.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 6:41 AM
EMERGENCY. Tokyo.
I was supposed to meet at the trash beach today.
Can’t make it.
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GO IN MY STEAD 
He’ll be there. Alone. Probably trying to suplex a tire. Or a seagull.

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 6:43 AM
…What kind of emergency?

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 6:44 AM
Villain incident.
Long story.
BUT MY BROCCOLI BOY IS WAITING.
Can you take some cold cases with you? He loves hero stuff.

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED —6:46 AM

Fine.
I'll bring the training scenarios.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 3:10 PM

Just finished the paperwork from that emergency.
On the train back now.
How'd Young Izuku do?

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED —3:22 PM

Kid did great today.
Burned through all the cases I gave him.

Yagi pocketed his phone with a smile. Kid already solving cold cases? He was going to be brilliant.

---

As the months wore on he felt less and less need to panic about the kid. He has a good head on his shoulders.

He overheard snippets of conversations about jail time, rehabilitation, assistance programs. Things Yagi never had to think deeply about. Things that help more than his punches ever could. 

Yeah, he’ll be great. Yagi thought. Wait...

Do I?

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT —11:23 PM

 HOW DO I ASK A KID IF HE WANTS A QUIRK!

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED —11:46 PM

Jesus Christ, Yagi.
Are we really having this conversation over text?
Are you trying to give the conversation that changes a life forever the same energy as a meme you forward at midnight?

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT —11:47 PM
I PANIK
What if I mess it up???
What if he says yes too fast??
or cries??
or explodes??
What if he thinks he has to say yes??
What if he dies instantly???
I don’t want to pressure him!!!

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED —11:52 PM
Okay. Breathe, you emotional windbag.
You’re not handing over a toy. You’re handing over a legacy. A dangerous one.
So here’s what you do:
Take him to dinner.
Good dinner. Not a vending machine meal.
Somewhere quiet, private.
Let him feel like it’s a moment, but not a trap.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 11:53 PM
YES YES I CAN DO DINNER
Wait do I dress up. Do I wear a suit. Wait I don’t have a suit anymore

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 11:59 PM
Jesus.
Be normal. Wear a button-down that doesn’t smell like energy drinks and regret.
Then: talk to him like a person. Not a successor. Not a symbol. A person.
Tell him you have something to offer, but he doesn’t have to take it.
Tell him there’s no deadline. He can think about it.
He can say no and you’ll still be proud.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 12:01 AM
What if he says yes right away???

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 12:02 AM
Then you say,
“I’m honored. But I want you to sleep on it.”
If he still says yes later, you hug him like a human being and then you both deal with the chaos together.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT — 12:03 AM
I want to do this right.
He deserves that. More than I ever did.

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG RECIEVED — 12:05 AM
Then stop panicking and start listening.
You already see him. That’s half the battle.
The other half is giving him space to see himself.

A nice button down. Homemade bento. A picnic blanket on the no-longer trash beach. Don’t accept a yes. Tell him to think about it. I can do this Yagi thought as he got ready to ask his boy the question.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG SENT —11:49 AM

Damn It.
All that hard work.
Everything you helped with.
The button-down. The picnic. 
I did everything you told me to.
And the kid still yeeted himself into a murderbot.

Chapter Text

I wanted to save the nice girl, Izuku thought, self-deprecatingly. But in the end, the nice girl saved me.

After Izuku smashed the robot and was saved from becoming a pancake, after sitting through lectures from both All Might and Recovery Girl, Izuku was nervous the whole ride home. 

Even the nice girl’s nifty quirk couldn’t lift the emotional toll of those lectures. Well, it could. But she had to give it back eventually. 

At least All Might didn’t ask for the quirk back... he sighs.

He knows he needs to take better care of himself. That he can’t go breaking himself like that. But... he didn’t know this power. This Quirk. He had no clue it would wreck him like this.

And now I have double therapy scheduled for Thursday. And I failed that test. Nineteen points is not enough. Not nearly enough. And I broke my body and for what? A pity look from All Might? A thank-you from the girl who had to save me twice? Maybe Kacchan was right. Maybe I’m just pretending.

I really am worthless.

---

Therapy helped. A little.

He was given some strategies for coping. Reminded of his breathing tricks. Given a research task: look into how Sparks manifest, to feel less ashamed about his own.

But I knew it was coming... he thinks. Shouldn’t it have gone better?

He doesn’t voice that part. His therapist doesn’t know about One For All.

He bites his lip as he walks home from the appointment. 

What if I didn’t get in?

Or... What if I did?

The what-ifs had been hanging over him all week-

“Izuku!” his mom’s voice cuts through the fog the moment he steps inside, slipping off his shoes.  

“It's here!”

He freezes.

Takes the envelope from her and brings it to his room.

He sits.

He stares.

An hour passed. He didn’t move. He didn’t know how to move. Staring at the letter. Wondering if he could tear it open and make the answer real.

Then he remembers:

His therapist had told him, “your worth isn’t built on one test or one outcome...” He wanted to believe that. Really, he did.

All Might’s voice  “You’ve got a good heart.” That one he could believe easily enough.

Tsukauchi-sensei “people who pause long enough to care- that’s what actually changes things”

That's right....

He takes a deep breath, and rips open the letter.

“Eh?”

A disk falls out.

“ I AM HERE! ... AS A PROJECTION!”

All Might beams in full heroic glory.

“Young Midoriya, you earned a respectable 19 villain points.”

“However! This alone is not enough to pass!”

I knew it. Izuku thought. I failed.

“But wait! What sort of Heroic School only focuses on taking down villains?”

Snapshots flash by 

Him pulling that girl from falling rubble

Shouting out a warning to another examinee

A half-second pause, a glance at the three-pointer 

Then running towards the zero pointer instead

“And so Hero Points were born!” All Might declares. “Of course, they can be lost  too - by unheroic actions!”

A shot flickers of Izuku flailing mid-air, three limbs broken. 

“And so, Izuku Midoriya: 50 rescue points! ”

Fifty? He stared, breath catching. Wait- was that…? His hands shook as he realized-

I… did it.

Tears blur his vision. I really did it.

The final screen is unreadable through the flood of tears- but that's ok. He knows he made it. What else could be important?

1st: Hitoshi Shinso: 81 : 11 Villain + 70 rescue 

2nd Midoriya Izuku: 69 : 19 Villain + 50 Rescue

3rd Katsuki Bakugou: 67 : 77 Villain - 10 Rescue

....

I’m really going to be a hero.

---

His euphoria lasted him all the way through the evening and into the next day. He felt like he was floating through class. He was going to be a hero. *He* was going to be a hero. He was /going to be a hero/

Suddenly he was slammed into a locker. 

“What the hell, Deku? How’d a dumbass like you score higher than me?”
Kacchan’s voice is a snarl- ragged, disbelieving.
“You’re Quirkless. Sparkless. There’s nothing in you that shines.”

His hand slams against the locker beside Izuku’s head. The metal clangs , trembling from the force. His hair’s a mess, eyes bloodshot and wild.

“You’ll flunk out by day one, you shitty nerd. I’ll make sure of it. You're nothing. If you wanna be a hero so bad…”

His palm begins to glow- sparks crackling, spitting, hissing.

“…then pray for some real freakin’ depth in your next life-
go piss off and take the goddamn swan dive already!”

BOOM.

A deafening blast erupts against the locker.
Light. Heat. Smoke. Sound- Izuku’s world shatters . The dent groans in the metal. His ears scream with ringing silence.

He slides down the cold steel, breath shallow, heart pounding.

A whisper breaks from his lips, almost lost in the static:

“ But… I have a spark.”

Kacchan doesn’t wait. He storms off, smoke curling from his fingertips, boots echoing down the stunned hallway.

Chapter Text

Smoke still clung to the locker, the echo of the blast curling into silence.

Izuku sat crumpled beneath it, knees drawn in, breath shivering in his chest.

He stared down the hallway where Kacchan had walked away. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just-

Go piss off and take the goddamn swan dive already.

The words throbbed in his skull louder than the ringing in his ears.

No.

No, that- he didn’t mean it.
Kacchan’s always been... rough. Explosive. That was just how he pushed people. Right?
Right?

But the smoke still curled from the dented metal.

Sparkless.

He’d said that too. Said there was nothing in him that shined.
But-

Izuku’s fingers clenched weakly in his lap. 

But he’d scored second.
He’d rescued people.
He’d done something.

Didn’t that mean anything?

His mind looped.
Kacchan was amazing.
Kacchan was going to be a hero.
They were supposed to be heroes together.
Kacchan told him to-

The thought choked itself before it finished.

No.
That isn’t...
That’s not Kacchan.

That’s not the person who used to drag him across playgrounds and call him stupid while making sure he didn’t fall.

That boy- the one who laughed so loudly, who beamed when he won things, who burned like a firework-
That boy hadn’t been around in years.

And this- this angry, cracked version of him, eyes wild and fists sparking-

Izuku’s breath hitched.

Bakugo is not my friend.

He didn’t realize he’d whispered it aloud until the words hung heavy in the empty corridor.

His ears stopped ringing.

And for the first time in a long time-
Izuku felt he deserved better.

Just five weeks until he starts at UA

He had another therapy appointment booked for that evening. 

He was planning on talking about Bakugo. About Kacchan. Their friendship. The shattering. Everything.

But should he really?

The hallway was quiet.

Izuku rubbed at his forearm absently, where yesterday’s scorch mark had already faded to pink. It shouldn’t have healed that fast. It never had before.

Maybe… Maybe that was on purpose.

Maybe Kacchan was holding back.

The thought curled warm in his chest. Just a flicker. A maybe.

He’d noticed it all week- the blasts had felt less sharp, the bruises lighter. The pain dulled quicker. 

Maybe…

Maybe Kacchan hadn’t meant what he said. Maybe he’d seen Izuku still showing up, still trying, and somewhere deep down, remembered the dumb, stubborn kid who used to chase him through parks with scraped knees and stars in his eyes.

So when it happened- when Bakugo shoved him against the lockers again, sparks jumping at his palms- Izuku didn’t flinch.

He didn’t even look away.

He met his eyes, soft. Open.

“Kacchan-”

The word was barely out when the explosion hit.

No pause. No hesitation. Just raw, white-hot heat that seared across his side and sent him to the ground.

Izuku choked on the smoke and the taste of metal. His fingers clawed at the floor, grasping for something that wasn’t there.

Izuku’s hand curled into a fist.

How could he be so stupid ?

The burn hurt . It really hurt. More than the last few. More than he ever remembered it hurting before. Like he’d been holding back before- and now he wasn’t.

No voice called after him. No sneer, no insult. Not even a scoff.

Just footsteps retreating. Slow. Steady. Indifferent.

It wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t regret.

The pain had faded faster because he was changing- not because Bakugo was.

And he’d gone and ruined it by hoping .

By calling him that name again.

Kacchan.

No.

Kacchan was gone.

The room smells like cinnamon tea and old fabric softener. The kind of safety that doesn’t quite stick to your skin.

Izuku sits curled on the couch, sleeves of his hoodie tugged over his fingers. He hasn’t spoken much- not yet. The silence presses like a weighted blanket.

“Do you want to talk about what happened this week?”

He shrugs. Looks away.

“It’s not important.”

A pause. The therapist waits. He doesn’t like silence- but he knows it’s a trap if he fills it with the wrong words.

 “You were limping when you came in. And you’re favoring your right side.”

“I wasn’t watching where I was going. Someone was using their quirk too close to the street.”

Not technically a lie. Just not the full truth. He hopes that’s enough.

The therapist’s pen doesn’t move. Doesn’t judge.

“That must’ve been scary.”

He nods.

Then- softly, barely audible:

“I thought someone I knew was getting better. Like maybe… like maybe they remembered who they used to be.”

He presses his face into his sleeves.

“But I was wrong.”

“It hurts more when it’s someone you trust.”

Izuku swallows hard.

“I don’t think I trust them anymore.”

The words feel like ash.

“That’s okay. You’re allowed to outgrow people. Even ones who meant something once.”

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t cry either. Not this time.

The sky was already dimming when Izuku stepped out. The city buzzed faintly in the distance- cars, quirks, voices- but it all felt far away. Muted. Like he was walking underwater.

His hoodie hung loose around his frame, sleeves still pulled low. The burn on his side itched beneath the bandages, but he didn’t touch it. He didn’t need the reminder.

He didn’t take the train. He didn’t want to be jostled, or stared at, or pitied.

So he walked.

The streets blurred together- familiar, but not comforting. He passed the park where they used to play Heroes. The corner store where they once argued over the last melon bread. The cracked stretch of sidewalk where he’d tripped, and Ka...Ba... someone... had laughed and pulled him back to his feet.

That memory hurt more than the burn.

He didn’t think the name. Not once.

Every time his mind crept toward it, toward a label that would make things solid, he let it slide away like water.

Because he didn’t know which one it was anymore.

And because either choice would mean something.

And he wasn’t ready to know what.

So instead, he kept walking. Hands tucked in his sleeves. Head down. Listening to the quiet between his own thoughts.

Chapter Text

"Wow, we’re all in the hero course! That’s so manly! " The red head declares with a bright smile. “My name’s Kirishima!”

"What a mad banquet of darkness," says The bird-headed orientee.

"He means that’s cool!" His quirk?? Chimes in helpfully. “I am Dark Shadow She/Her, and that's Fumi-nii!” 

Fumi? sighs like a tired older brother. “Its Tokoyami, actually.” 

Then someone cuts cleanly between the two. All motion and precision, like a deliberate act in a play. “Of course you must know who I am” He intones, then, he bows- not a deep, humble bow, but a crisp, courtly nod of the head, as if greeting nobles at a ball.

“But in case you’ve somehow fallen behind, my name is Monoma Neito.”

The next one to speak looks exhausted. Like he was functioning on nothing but Caffeine. He looks like Monoma’s whole existence exhausted him.“Shinso” he deadpanned. 

“My name is Ochako!” The nice girl bubbles, “it's so nice to meet you all!”

A beat of silence draws on too long.

“Ahh! AHH! I’m Izuku” he stumbles, blushing, only having just realized they were waiting for him. 

But before he can stew in his misery for too long, Shinso changes the subject like a life preserver.

"When did you get your Sparks?" He asks, trying to sound casual. Just a few weeks ago, he was that kid with the villain quirk. Now... he’s Sparked.

"Eight," says Tokoyami.

"Nine!" declares Ochako.

"Twelve, myself," Kirishima adds proudly.

"Uh... the entrance exam," Izuku says with a blush.

"Huh. Me too," Hitoshi admits.

"You all took so long ! I got my Spark at six! " Monoma announces with a theatrical flourish, striking a pose with one hand to his chest. He grins- not smug, but warm. Playful. Almost inviting."Who among you are joining me in the glorious 1-B?" he asks, he adds, his voice lilting with humor.

The silence is immediate. Awkward.

"Come on, don’t be shy now!" he trills, sweeping a hand grandly.

Kirishima chuckles awkwardly. “Uh... 1-A, bro.”

Dark Shadow speaks up when Tokoyami remains brooding.  "We’re in 1-A too."

"Same," Ochako says, blinking like she missed the memo.

Dread sinks in like a stone. Izuku lowers his voice.  "...1-A."

Shinso gives a shrug and a faint, apologetic smile. "I’m in 1-A too."

Monoma’s eye twitches. His smile sharpens,  stretched too wide, like something cracking..

Izuku blinks, a slow dread starting to pool in his chest. 

 "Ah," he says, and there’s something brittle in his voice - like he’s trying to laugh with a mouth full of glass "So I see."

He laughs, sharp, forced. 

"Clearly, I’m the best of us. The counterweight! You’re all so far beneath me that 1-A needs five of you to balance my greatness!"

No one responds. Eyes slide away.

Izuku watches him, torn.

He wants to say something.

He wants to reassure him.
He can see the pain.
But... the anger.that flaring bitterness
That comes through more clearly.
It’s... familiar .

Take the goddamn swan dive already!

It crashes through his mind before he can stop it. His hands tremble slightly. Not now. Not here. He bites the inside of his cheek and tries to breathe through it.

He flinches, and it’s too late- Monoma has seen it.

Izuku extends a hand, palm open, voice soft.
"I’m sure you’ll be the best of us all,"  he says, with a soft smile.

But Monoma’s gaze sharpens. He saw the hesitation. He saw the fear. 

His hand lashes out- not a strike, but a dismissal. 

“I’m sure I will too,” he spits, slapping Izuku’s hand away like it burned him.

Izuku flinches, his hand hovering awkwardly in the space where warmth should’ve been.

A man steps in, wrapped in a tattered gray scarf and exhaustion. His hair is unbrushed. His gaze flicks lazily over the room- sharp, despite the half-lidded eyes. He doesn’t introduce himself.

Izuku blinks. Who...? He doesn’t look like a hero. He looks like someone who wandered in after three hours of sleep and a vending machine dinner.

Beside him, Shinso’s breath catches.

“Eraserhead,” he whispers, the word almost reverent.

Izuku's eyes widen in recognition 

Another figure steps in, boots clicking. Wide-brimmed hat. Masked face. The gleam of twin pistols holstered at his hips.

“It’s the Pro Hero Snipe,” Izuku murmurs, wide-eyed. His accuracy rate is 99.6%- he could shoot a villain’s weapon out of their hand blindfolded-

Heavy footsteps echo through the hall. The next figure ducks through the doorway- a hulking man with clawed hands, a bristling tail, and a muzzle built for biting.

He sniffs the air. A low growl rumbles in his throat- felt more than heard.

Kirishima lights up. “Totally manly! That’s Hound Dog!”

The hero straightens, towering and sharp-eyed. His lip curls slightly, but not in aggression- just intensity.

Izuku’s heart races. He knows these names. Their records. Their specialties. Their gear. He’s half-cataloging Snipe’s holsters when-

“OHMYGOSH- THIRTEEN! It’s THIRTEEN!!" Uraraka screams. 

Thirteen gives a little finger-waggle wave. “Hello, students!”

The scarfed man - Eraserhead - casts a quick glare at the space-suit hero. Then he sweeps the room with his gaze. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Try not to waste our time.” He mutters. Then, a bit more loudly,  “Spark Orientation starts now.”

Hound Dog growls again- instinctive, not aggressive. He exhales slowly, reins it in.

“Therapy’s mandatory for all students. Spark or not. Don’t try to weasel out of it.” His voice is gravelly but surprisingly soft. “That’s not up for debate.”

Thirteen steps forward, calm and warm. “Quirks. Sparks. These powers can be dangerous. Your abilities are tools- not instincts. You’re here to learn how to wield them. Not be ruled by them.”

Snipe steps up beside them, boots clicking as he tips his hat low. “ Reckon y’all’re wonderin’ why we’re runnin’ this rodeo.”
He pauses, eyes glinting behind his mask. “It’s ‘cause we’ve all been through it. Felt that Spark hit like lightning in our veins. We ain't just teachin’- we been there. Lived it.”

Then he jerks a thumb toward the hulking figure at his side, mouth twitching into a grin. “Well... ‘cept ol’ Hound Dog here. He’s just taggin’ along to make sure no one snaps like a dry twig in a dust storm.”

Hound Dog frowns again, this time with a grin of his own, “Darn tootin’.”

Chapter Text

Izuku fumbled with the tie of his uniform, trying to remember Tsukauchi-sensei’s instructions. Something about a fold, or a loop, or maybe witchcraft?

His phone buzzed- again. The Spark group chat had been active all week. They hadn’t seen each other in person since Orientation, but apparently everyone had some kind of follow-up with their mentors. Izuku wasn’t sure about the others, but he’d ended up with three meetings: one with his regular therapist to coordinate care, and two more with Eraserhead- Aizawa-sensei - for quirk counseling. Each of those had been followed immediately by a sit-down with Hound Dog-sensei.

Therapy. It still felt strange, having so many adults who cared.

He clenched his fist, watching a thin flicker of green lightning snake down his forearm. He could feel the urge to explode outward; too much energy, too fast. But he pressed it down, channeled it into movement. Flow, not burst.

I can do this.

“Izuku, you’ll be late!” his mom called from the kitchen, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“Ah! I’ll be right there!” he called back, abandoning the tie in favor of a slightly rumpled but enthusiastic look.

There was a pep in his step as he stepped out the front door. He was meeting Uraraka at the train station. The rest of the Spark group had agreed to meet up by the front gates.

The train ride made Izuku more nervous than he wanted to admit.
What if she doesn’t wait for me?
What if this was like middle school, all over again?

“Zumies!” a cheerful voice called.

He blinked, then beamed. Ochako was waving from the platform, grinning wide. She was even using that silly nickname Dark Shadow had given him after his first successful quirk video in the chat.

Was this... friendship?

They walked together in quiet, easy rhythm. No pressure to talk. Just the being was enough.
Izuku mostly tried not to cry.

He failed the moment he saw who was waiting at the U.A. gates.

Shinso slouched against a tree, straightening up as they approached. Tokoyami sat nearby, bickering with Dark Shadow under the shade. And from the opposite side of the campus, Kirishima came sprinting up, waving enthusiastically.

He had friends. He had friends.

His watery smile faltered just slightly. Monoma wasn’t there.

“Maybe he’s already inside?” Ochako said, hesitantly.

“We must not let him cast shadows upon our souls,” Tokoyami murmured.

“Fumi means we can try again later!” Dark Shadow chirped brightly.

They all shared a look- tentative, but understanding. Kirishima stepped forward and swiped in.
“Let’s go! It’s our first day! Time to be manly!”

Their first stop was Hound Dog’s office for a final check-in. “If you need more time, we’ll move you to General Studies with afterschool training,” he explained gently. “You’re not failing. You’re healing.”

Izuku hesitated. Maybe I’m not ready, he thought. Maybe... I should start slower.

But when he opened his mouth to answer, he remembered the feeling of running with his quirk- for the first time. The wind in his lungs. The electricity in his blood.

He declined the offer.

He was ready.

They walked together toward 1-A, lighthearted in the way only trauma survivors on the cusp of hope can be.

“What if we’re all just stuck in some villain’s dream sequence,” Shinso deadpanned.

“Then the dream better come with snacks,” Ochako said, smirking.

Dark Shadow formed tiny bunny ears over Tokoyami’s head.

“You guys are so manly,” Kirishima said, beaming. “I’m so glad I Sparked.”

Izuku laughed, heart light. Maybe hero school will be different from middle school.

He opened the door.

“I don’t give a fuck, you discount Hot Wheels.”

He was here.

Izuku froze. He rolled his eyes and looked away- until he saw Izuku. And in a heartbeat, his whole body tensed. The boredom vanished, replaced with fury. He swung his feet off the desk, rising fast, hands already sparking.

“WHAT THE FUCK-”

The sparks died.

He blinked in confusion, then looked... sullen. Deflated. Like someone had pulled the rage out of him and left him hollow.

Izuku barely had time to process before-

“If you’re here to make friends, get out. This is the hero course,” Aizawa said, suddenly in the room. His tone was dry, deadly serious.

He strode to the front of the room and held up a uniform packet. “Time is of the essence. Get changed and meet me at Training Ground B in ten minutes.”

Silence.

And then movement.

Izuku stepped onto the training field, heart thrumming with nervous anticipation. He felt ready. Ready ready. Like, actually maybe capable of handling this.

Then Aizawa-sensei looked at Shinso. Then at him. Shook his head slightly.

Did I do something wrong?

"Bakugo!" Aizawa barked.

Izuku flinched. No, okay. He's okay.

"You had the most villain points in the entrance exam. How far could you throw a softball in middle school?"

"Sixty-four meters," he replied, sullen and stiff.

"Good. Now try to throw as far as you can using your quirk."

The next second was an explosion of light, sound, and the word "DIE!" screamed at the atmosphere. The dust settled slower than Izuku’s rattled eardrums.

Aizawa didn’t flinch. “We’re here to test your limits,” he said calmly, like nothing had just exploded. “Know them. Then exceed them.”

"This is sooo cool!" exclaimed a pink-skinned classmate with bright, excited eyes. “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

She faltered under Aizawa’s gaze. The air seemed to still.

“Heroics are not fun,” he said flatly. “It’s dangerous. It’s messy. It’s life-threatening- to you, and to the civilians you must protect. Anyone fooling around in my class will be expelled. Immediately.”

His eyes softened. Just a fraction. Izuku almost missed it. He wouldn’t have caught it at all, if he hadn’t seen Sensei crouched with that street cat last week.

“With that said... Push yourself. I’ll push you harder. That’s how we make you heroes.”

Izuku took a steadying breath. Okay. He could do this. He would do this. He was ready.

Then he noticed Shinso. Paling.

Oh. Right.

Verbal Seal isn’t gonna work for this. Not a test in sight where that would help. But Brainwashing...

He moved quietly beside him. “It’s okay if you use your quirk on me,” he said, soft and sincere. “You’ve got this. We Sparks have to stick together.”

“YEAH!” Kirishima suddenly yelled, appearing like some sort of motivational cryptid. “That’s so manly! Use it on me too- I don’t even know how useful my quirk’ll be here!”

Ochako wandered over with a smile. “Me too!”

“What a mad banquet of darkness,” Tokoyami intoned, nodding gravely- but his smile betrayed the poetry of his solidarity.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Maybe even the barest hint of approval.

The tests began.

Izuku sank into focus like a stone into water. Every step was an effort. Every breath was careful. He pushed his Spark- controlled it. Used every inch of his body and every speck of his willpower to show what he could do.

He barely noticed Shinso’s voice pulling him under, handing over his will, letting his friend guide him through the long-distance run.

It was only when they reached the end - dusty, exhausted, aching in the best possible way- that they were gathered to see the scores.

“Before I show you the scores,” Awiza started with a sigh like a man who hasn’t slept in a year,
“You should know, syllabi are on your desks back in the classroom,” he narrowed his eyes as he assessed the class. “Read them. Carefully. I’m not going to repeat myself every time one of you forgets how a calendar works.”

Several students looked sheepish at this. As if they had at some point forgotten how a calendar works.

“And,” he added, his tone somehow managing to get flatter, “you’ll find a schedule form attached. Fill out your availability for individual therapy by Friday.”

He let that hang in the air just long enough to make it weird.

“If you don’t schedule a session,” he continued, eyes narrowing, “you’re out. Expelled. No exceptions.”

Silence. 

“Heroes don’t just train their bodies. They train their minds. And if you think that doesn’t apply to you, you’re already a liability.”

Then, as if he hadn’t just threatened them with expulsion for skipping counseling, he turned his tablet around and displayed the scores.

Izuku blinked at the scoreboard.Trying to get whatever just happened out of his brain to focus on the scores.

Then he blinked again.

    U.A. Quirk Assessment Scores

1. Momo Yaoyorozu
2. Shoto Todoroki
3. Hitoshi Shinso
4. Katsuki Bakugo
5. Izuku Midoriya

...

Fifth.

He was fifth.

Above Iida. Above Shoji. Just behind Him . That was-

A breath caught in his throat, too full to escape cleanly. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, hot and stunned.

I almost gave up...

Tears streamed down his face.

This is where I was meant to be.

Chapter Text

The classroom buzzed in a low murmur as students drifted among the desks, fingers skimming syllabi like they might bite. Paper rustled. Chairs scraped. The clock above the whiteboard ticked past 12:01, loud in the sudden lull.
Izuku stared down at his schedule- each neatly typed line a reminder that class was done for the day. And somehow, so was his sense of purpose.
No villains to fight. No tests to prep for. Just… lunchtime. And silence.
Then his phone buzzed.

✨We Don’t Talk About Spark Club✨
Command Z: there’s a cat café not too far from here. who wants to go die in a cat pile with me
Upsie Daisy: sounds fun!
Upsie Daisy: …tokoyami, did Dark Shadow get your phone again
Upsie Daisy changed their name to Uravity
Fumi-Nii changed Uravity back to Upsie Daisy
Fumi-Nii: no! keep it big sis ocha!
Upsie Daisy: …fine…

Izuku glanced across the room.
Dark Shadow loomed over Tokoyami’s shoulder, one claw clutching a phone like stolen treasure. Tokoyami swatted at her like a weary older brother. The shadow spirit only cackled louder, eyes glowing with delight.
Izuku smiled. His thumb hovered.

✨We Don’t Talk About Spark Club✨
Zumies: a cat puddle sounds like fun
Shield-Nii: sounds manly!! 💪
Fumi-Nii: fumi-nii says we can go if I give his phone back
Fumi-Nii: What a Mad Banquet of Darkness.
Zumies: @Drama Bean you want to come too?

Izuku stared at the screen. Waiting. Hoping.
The typing dots appeared. Stopped. Started again. Vanished.

Then:

✨We Don’t Talk About Spark Club✨

Drama Bean:Absolutely not.
Why would I lower myself to lounging with Class 1-A rejects in a cat café of all places?
Do you think I had time to frolic among fur and foam while you were being spoon-fed special treatment?
Our quirks are just as powerful.
Our Sparks are just as meaningful.
And yet somehow- somehow- you all get early access, and I get a morning of Nezu PowerPoint and a binder full of pity.
But sure. Let’s all go cuddle kittens and pretend everything is fair.
I hope you choke on cat hair.
Zumies: oh…
ok…
Fumi-Nii: He offered you Warmth and Whimsy, and you spat Thorns at his Hand.
Even Carrion Crows show more grace at a Feast of Kindness.

Izuku read the messages twice. Then quietly shut off his screen.
Across the room, Tokoyami met his eyes- a silent exchange. Don’t take it personally. Let him be.
Izuku gave him a small smile, one part understanding, one part ache.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped into the hallway, headed for the front gate. Toward tea. Cats. And the soft promise of peace.

They walked mostly in silence.

Not the heavy, unbearable kind- more the shared quiet of people nursing the same bruise. Sneakers scuffed the sidewalk. Bags shifted. The city murmured around them, unbothered by teenage grief.

Izuku kept his head down, letting the rhythm of footfalls and breathing sync with the ache in his chest. He wasn’t mad at Monoma. He got it. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting .

Then something warm and shadowy wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.

“It’s okay, Zumies!” Dark Shadow cooed, curling around him in a dramatic Dark Hug. “You don’t need a Drama Bean! You are already Zumie enough without any caffeine!”

Izuku let out a startled laugh- a real one, short and bright- and blinked through the sudden lift in mood. The others looked over.

“Hey,” Ochako grinned. “Do you think if he drinks too much coffee he'll break the sound barrier?”

“Oh god,” Shinso muttered, “what if we gave the cats catnip and filmed it? You know, make a zoomies compilation. Include Midoriya’s quirk test footage for scientific accuracy.”

“That,” Kirishima said with reverence, “would be the manliest cat video of all time.”

Dark Shadow suddenly gasped. “ BUTTERFLY!! ” she shouted, and stretched off down the sidewalk, flapping and flailing.

Tokoyami closed his eyes. “I cannot control her. She is the night’s problem now.”

Izuku wiped his eyes- wasn’t crying, just laughing too hard- and gave Tokoyami a pat on the arm. “She’s doing her best.”

“So am I,” Tokoyami replied darkly.

Ahead of them, the cat café sign peeked into view, swinging gently in the breeze. The bell above the door waited with patience and promise.

The bulletin board near the café’s entrance was a riot of color.
Layered flyers, overlapping announcements, and curling edges of long-forgotten events jostled for space like leaves caught in a breeze.

Tacked front and center was a child’s drawing- crayon on construction paper, the corners bent but proud. Four smiling stick figures stood beneath a yellow sun. A girl in a pink dress held hands with a figure made of multi-colored scribbles.
“Me, Mommy, Daddy, and Mr. Fluff!” it read in wobbly, uneven handwriting.
Signed and dated in the corner: Mayo, Age 6.

Something about the drawing tugged a smile onto his face before his eyes wandered to the café menu.

After carefully scanning the menu, Izuku ordered hot chocolate and melon bread. After ordering he noticed something had fallen from the bulletin board. Frowning, he bent to retrieve it- a half-crumpled sheet of paper- and found a clean spot to tack it back up.

He paused, about to glance at what he'd pinned, catching only the edge of a child's photograph - when- 

"Izuku, come on!" Ochaco called. "Shinso’s stealing all the cats!"

He turned away, never reading the tagline:
Missing: Mayo Nozomi, Age 6

It had just started to drizzle outside- lazy drops smudging against the wide front windows- when they finished their snacks. Plates littered with crumbs and smudges of cream sat forgotten as Shinso, ever the agent of chaos, tried once again to argue for catnip distribution rights.

“They’re cats,” he said flatly. “They want this.”

“Look, I get it.” The barista said, sounding exhausted. “Zoomies are funny. But this isn’t ‘Cat Mayhem Live.’ Half these guys are seniors with anxiety. If you give them nip, they don’t sprint- they dissociate. And then I have to cradle Beans for an hour while he reevaluates his life. So... no.” the barista replied, arms crossed. 

So no zoomies compilation. Instead, the group settled for Plan B: piling every sleepy, purring feline in the café on top of Shinso like some strange summoning ritual. A tabby balanced precariously on his shoulder. A calico kneaded into his thigh. One determined sphynx refused to stop headbutting his sternum.

“I didn’t agree to this,” Shinso muttered, under six cats and counting.

“You explicitly agreed to this,” Ochako pointed out, placing a ginger kitten like a crown on his head. 

Then the bell above the café door gave a dramatic jingle . A lightning bolt cracked in the distance, as if summoned on cue.

The entire group turned.

Monoma stood silhouetted in the doorway.

He stood there a moment too long, dripping in the doorway, as if deciding whether to bolt or play it cool.

Then he struck a pose far too rehearsed for someone claiming not to be here on purpose.

“Oh,” he gasped. “You meant this cat café?”

Raindrops clung to the ends of his hair like dewdrops on indignation. He swept inside with a tragic sigh.

“I was just in the area. Don’t read into it.”

He plucked a latte menu from the counter with theatrical disdain.

“If the lattes weren’t so good, I’d leave out of principle.”

But he sat in the booth right next to theirs.

Didn’t ask to join, didn’t apologize. Just slowly peeled off his coat and settled in like a stormcloud folding into a teacup. A minute passed. Maybe two.

“…May I hold Mr. Marshmallow?” he asked, very quietly, like the words were glass in his throat.

Izuku smiled, warm and real.

He gently lifted the fluffy, rotund Mr. Marshmallow- who was currently using Shinso’s chest as a nap altar- and passed him across the barrier between booths.

“I’m glad you came,” he said softly.

Monoma didn’t look up. But he nodded, just once, and buried his hands in soft white fur.

Outside, the rain was ticking gently against the window, and inside, the cats purred like tiny engines of peace.

Chapter Text

Izuku shuffled into homeroom, one hand tugging absently at the knot of his tie. It was... better today. Slightly straighter. Less like it had gotten into a bar brawl with his collar.

Still not right. I should’ve texted Tsukauchi-Sensei. He explained it last night but- I don’t think I retained a single word once he said “double Windsor.”

Around him, Class 1-A hummed with the soft noise of half-awake chatter and not-so-sly yawns. Kaminari fussed over a button that looked like it’d been in a lightning strike, Kirishima lending a hand with exaggerated care. Tsuyu, serene as ever, sipped her tea with eyes still half-dreaming. And He sat rigid, eyes already sharp and slicing through the room like a blade hunting a shadow debt.

Then, Aizawa-Sensei drifted in, capture weapon in hand, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin.

“Listen up,” he rasped, voice rough as gravel, no preamble, no sugar-coating. “I won’t say this twice.”

Silence dropped like a guillotine- sharp , cold , final.

His gaze flicked over them all, slow and precise, like a sensor scanning for faults.

“Quirks aren’t toys,” he said, the words landing with the weight of a hammer. “They’re dangerous. Volatile. Deadly when treated like party tricks.” His eyes hardened. “That includes right here. This classroom. Training grounds. Lunch lines.”

If you don’t know your quirk is safe, keep it to yourself. Check with a teacher first. And if you do know it’s unsafe?” His voice dipped, cold and cutting. “Then don’t use it. Simple as that.”

Aizawa’s eyes flickered, coiled and taut, as if daring him to prove him wrong.

For a sick second, Izuku felt that stare land on him- his chest tightening, the familiar spiral

Wait, did I- ? Oh no. Was I mumbling about quirks again? Did I leave my notebook here last night? Does he know I- 

But no- tension radiated from one desk over, where His hands gripped the table so hard his knuckles blanched. The storm before the lightning.

“Finally,” Aizawa said, voice sharpening to a blade, “If a teacher orders you to stop using your quirk? You stop. No questions. No protests. There’s time for talk later. But right now, it’s about safety. Yours. Your classmates’. The civilians you’ll protect someday.”

He scanned the room one last time and nodded once- final, irrevocable.
“Dismissed to first period.”

Language Arts - 8:20-9:10 

Class with Present Mic was... an experience. The kind Izuku was pretty sure would be burned into his brain forever- in all caps.

“WHAT UP, CLASS 1-A! TODAY WE’RE GONNA SPELL IT OUT! ”

The windows rattled. The clock flinched. Izuku’s notes trembled under the raw force of Volume: Pro.

He barely managed to scribble down “ subject-verb agreement ” before the next sonic boom of enthusiasm hit- along with a note to check his own journals for common grammar errors. Clean data makes for clearer analysis.

Present Mic. The Present Mic. Top 50 in the hero rankings. He’d had his own radio show! He once fought a villain made of sentient radio static and made a pun while doing it. And now he was explaining homophones like it was the halftime show at the Hero Olympics.

Izuku nodded vigorously- even when he didn’t fully understand the example. Wait, which “there” was that? No time- nod like your GPA depends on it. He didn’t want to be rude.

Math: 9:20-10:10

It was Ectoplasm!- a pro hero who had once held off an entire villain group with himself. Literally. Izuku had watched the footage so many times, the grainy resolution lived rent-free in his memory.

As class began, Ectoplasm split into six identical copies of himself, all sweeping through the room with military precision. One by one, the clones paused at desks, correcting equations mid-thought with ink-stained fingers and quiet, crisp nods.

Izuku’s hands were shaking.

It’s really him.

Math was terrifying. But disappointing Ectoplasm? That was unthinkable. That was math with judgment. So Izuku took the most meticulous notes of his life- color-coded, margin-labeled, with a quick sketch of a projectile arc from Ectoplasm’s famous rooftop fight. Angles matter. Timing matters. Quirk analysis is half math, after all.

Literature 10:20-11:10

His next class was with Cementoss.

The unsung poetry nerd of the hero world.

His voice rumbled low, like gravel after rain- steady, grounded, oddly comforting. He read Yeats aloud like it was gospel. He loved haiku. He had opinions about enjambment.

Izuku was enraptured.

Cementoss once built an entire evacuation route with nothing but his quirk and a pencil sketch. And now he was at the chalkboard quoting Rumi with chalk dust on his hands and gentle authority in his voice.

Today’s poem came from the pre-quirk era. It was full of longing and metaphors about stars. Cementoss asked the class what “light” symbolized before people could literally glow.

Izuku’s eyes burned. The poem, the delivery, the reverence- he almost cried.

And then the man chuckled at his own pun- “Concrete meaning, huh?”- and Izuku knew, with absolute certainty, that this was a genius before him.

Lunch 

“Not gonna lie,” Kirishima muttered around a bite of rice, “Ectoplasm-sensei scares the crap outta me. I blinked and three versions of him came over to see if I needed help.”

“He corrects errors and apologizes for trauma,” Fumikage added with grave dignity.

“Man multitasks,” Ochako nodded solemnly. Then, grinning:
“If he gave us stickers afterward I’d probably imprint on him.”

Izuku sputtered a laugh mid-chew. Kirishima grinned wide. Fumikage nodded once, as if this were a known psychological risk.

Izuku choked on his drink, snorting laughter.

We're okay. This is okay. I think I can do this.

A soft whuff of air cut across the table- followed by a gentle thud as a bread roll bounced off Izuku’s arm.

Dark Shadow hovered over the tray like a guilty child, talons still extended. “A roll,” she declared in a dramatic tone, “for the cinnamon roll.”

“Apologies,” Tokoyami sighed, pinching the bridge of his beak. “She has been reading internet forums again.”

Izuku bit into the bread with a grin. Then he smiled at Dark Shadow. “Thank you.”

Art History: 12:00-12:50 - Free Period: 1:00 - 1:50

The last normal class of the day was Art History, delivered with dramatic flair by none other than Midnight herself.

“Now this ,” she declared, gesturing grandly to a hologram of All Might’s silver age costume, “is how you design for symbolism. Function, flair, and the faint whisper of patriotic obsession... if the whispers were shouting through a megaphone.”

The costume glittered in the light, all bold lines and brighter intentions. Izuku could feel the admiration in her voice- like even Midnight - Kayama-Sensei , known for weaponized seduction and dominatrix drama, respected the raw theatricality of the Symbol of Peace.

He took notes furiously, even though none of this would be on a test. Symbolism, branding, audience psychology- this stuff built All Might. And Izuku wasn’t about to overlook what made a hero iconic .

As the bell neared and students began to stir, Kayama-Sensei clapped once- sharp as a starter pistol.

“ Hold it, darlings! Normally, you’d have a free period now. But not today.”

She snapped her fingers. The wall panels hissed open, dramatic as stage curtains revealing the next act.

From the hidden compartments, labeled containers rolled out one by one, each gleaming with the U.A. crest and a student’s name printed in sleek black font.

“These,” Kayama-Sensei purred, turning with a smirk, “are your hero costumes. Freshly designed from the blueprints you submitted with your acceptance paperwork.”

Gasps, groans, cheers, and curses filled the room in equal measure. 

Kayama-Sensei winked. “Suit up and meet me at training field A for your first official hero critique. Try not to faint from joy.”

Izuku stared at the container labeled MIDORIYA, IZUKU , its sleek edges gleaming like something out of a government conspiracy or a particularly well-funded game show.

This is it. Real training. Hero work. My costume.

The case clicked softly as he popped the seals, the hiss of pressurization sounding far too serious for fabric.

Please don’t be a mess. Please don’t look like I made it in a fever dream at 3AM. Please-

He opened the lid.

He pulled his costume out and put it on reverently.
A forest green jumpsuit with lots of pockets and a utility belt. A soft cross of red marked the pouch holding his first aid equipment. The shoulders and elbows were a deep matte black, same as the arm-length gloves. His main zipper was a gold color while the pocket zippers shined of brass. He had on high combat boots the same color as the red cross. A cowl fell behind his head and a mask made to filter out toxins fell across his neck.

He felt like a hero.

When he got to the training ground he’d half expected something dramatic- maybe even public- 

but of course U.A. was more professional than that. Instead, students were told to test their range of motion while being called up one by one for a private meeting with Kayama-sensei.

When his turn came, she tilted her head, eyes sharp but not unkind.

“Good. Functional. Protective. How does it move?”

He rotated a shoulder and offered a few details. She nodded, making a note.

“It’s a little bland,” she said, with a thoughtful frown. “You might want to consider some flair- something that makes it yours. Unless you’re going full underground chic?”

Izuku blinked. “...I hadn’t thought that far.” He rubbed the back of his head, sheepishly. “I designed it before the entrance exam. I- I didn’t have a Spark yet. I didn’t think I ever would.”

“That makes sense,” she replied, smiling faintly. “Keep thinking about it.For now, you're good to go- your costume is functional and protective enough for training.”

He was dismissed with a wave and a flick of her clipboard. Students who weren’t cleared were directed to change into their gym uniforms instead.

At the end of the free-period-turned-class, Kayama-Sensei clapped her hands once- just loud enough to snap everyone to attention.

“I’ve got a sign-up sheet back in the classroom for one-on-one costume planning sessions after school,” she announced. “If your costume was approved, don’t sign up until next week. If you were told to make changes, you’ll get priority.”

Kayama-Sensei’s smile softened as she stood up from her clipboard. “One more thing before you go, students,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of authority. “No weapons in battle training until you've gone through the proper safety checks and training. We’re not just handing out gadgets for show, got it? Any gear that could cause harm needs to be cleared first”

She flashed a grin, sharp as her heels.  “Now hurry back to class- you won’t want to miss Foundational Heroics.”

And then it was time for the class everyone had been waiting for.

Foundational Heroics: 2:00-4:00

A familiar laugh echoed from the hallway.

“I AM COMING THROUGH THE DOOR!”

The door slammed open with all the subtlety of a comic book on fire.

All Might struck a pose, beaming. “LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!”

For a beat, no one moved. The door whimpered on its hinges.

Then, class 1-A disassembled in real time.

Izuku saw Iida drop his notebook and snap into a salute. Sero scrambled upright and nearly took out a desk. Ochako clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes wide with delight. Kirishima whispered something reverent- Izuku caught the word “manly.” Fumikage just stared, as if trying to memorize a myth. Shinso muttered, “I need a cat,” and wilted like a sleep-deprived houseplant.

Izuku- Izuku felt something click inside him.

Like someone had hit play on his soul.

“please get changed into your hero costumes and meet me at Training Ground Delta,” All Might announced cheerfully, as if this wasn’t the most important moment of Izuku’s entire existence.

All Might was already waiting for them, standing dramatically against the skyline like a motivational poster that had learned to pose. Izuku had to blink a few times. He knew- he knew - All Might had been weakened. Knew he’d been injured. Knew the facts. And yet, seeing him like this, standing tall and unshakable with the sun hitting him just right- it was blinding.

All Might produced a thick stack of note cards from seemingly nowhere, glanced at the first one, and flashed that signature, impossible grin.

“Are you ready to be heroes?”

Izuku didn’t realize he’d straightened up until his spine started to ache.

Iida’s hand shot up like a rocket. “Sir! Will this be similar to the entrance exam?”

“Not at all!” boomed All Might, flipping to card number two with practiced flair. “Today’s exercise is something new- and very real. We’re calling it… Battle Trials!”

Izuku’s pulse ticked up. Battle. Trials. It sounded like something out of a video game manual.

Several students straightened. Others exchanged excited, nervous glances. Izuku’s brain was already running simulations.

“You’ll be working in teams, assigned at random,” he said, checking the next card before tucking it away. “Why? Because out in the field, you don’t always get to choose your backup. You might know the heroes patrolling your area, but crime doesn’t exactly RSVP.”

That made sense. Izuku nodded slightly, already imagining himself teamed up with someone whose Quirk clashed with his. Could he support them? Could he adapt?

Tsuyu raised a finger. “Do the villains get time to prepare?”

“Er- minimal,” All Might said, flipping through his cards to check. “Improv is key!”

“I see,” she said, and said no more, which somehow made it worse.

Izuku scribbled that down in his mental notebook. Tsuyu Asui- strategic thinker. Watch out for follow-ups.

All Might cleared his throat. “The objective is to secure a bomb inside a villain stronghold. Teams will be split into heroes and villains. Heroes win if they secure the bomb or capture the villains. Villains win if they capture the heroes- or if they prevent the bomb from being touched for fifteen minutes.”

Kirishima raised a hand, tentative but steady. “Uh… Is the bomb real?”

All Might blinked. Flipped forward. Found the card. “No!” he said brightly. “But fail to treat it like it is, and you’re already in trouble. Damaging the bomb is an automatic loss for the heroes. If the villains destroy it, both sides lose. If anyone destroys it on purpose…” He lowered the card slightly and scanned the group.

Izuku froze as All Might’s gaze passed over him.

 “You fail individually .”

The wind pulled at his collar. Even it seemed to know when to shut up.

Aoyama raised his hand with a flourish. “Monsieur All Might- isn’t my cape magnifique? ”

All Might stared at him for a beat. Then gave a slow, solemn thumbs up.

Mina leaned toward Kaminari. “That was the most supportive thumbs-up I’ve ever seen.”

He nodded. “Like, emotionally effective.”

“Focus, please,” All Might said quickly, flipping back and forth through his cards like they might contain instructions on cape etiquette . “Where was I? Right- grading criteria!”

He tapped the cards against his palm like a gavel.

“Your performance will be graded on how well you embody your role. Heroes must think like heroes. Villains must push them. I want tactics. Teamwork. And that spark- the one that makes people believe in you.”

His voice gentled, but his presence stayed bright and steady.

“Now… show me what you’ve got.”

Izuku and Ochako knew each other pretty well by now. Ever since Spark Orientation, they’d stuck close- one part tactical alliance, three parts shared chaos brain. She still refused to call him anything but “Zumies,” despite his half-hearted protests. Somehow, it made him feel braver.

They huddled behind a rooftop vent, whispering out a plan. “Bakugo’s going to come looking for me,” Izuku said. “We have to move fast- but that should leave Iida alone with the bomb.”

The plan was simple. Split up briefly on each floor to cover more ground, but stay quiet and coded. “Tap once on your comm if you find Iida. Twice if it’s... Bakugo.”

They found Iida together, by chance, peeking into the bomb room just as he launched into a full villain monologue. Back turned, arms folded, the very picture of righteous megalomania.

Ochako's cheeks puffed out with suppressed laughter. She slapped her face lightly with her left hand. The grin drained from her eyes-  ready to focus.

A few quick gestures passed between them: flank left, take the bomb. No words needed.

And then- boom . Explosions echoed through the building. He must have realized they weren’t on the lower levels. 

Iida spun around, eyes wide, hands already in motion.

The fight began.

With two opponents, Iida struggled to keep up- but he was fast, relentless, constantly shifting the bomb's position, buying time.

Then he burst in like a grenade with legs, eyes locked on Izuku.

“You think you’re better than me?! Avoiding me? Well avoid this! ”

Bakugo exploded forward, and Izuku moved to intercept. This was their chance. Bakugo was loud. Distracting . Ochako, unburdened by emotional weight, could get past Iida. Izuku just had to keep Bakugo away. Keep the battlefield safe.

Izuku activated One for All at 2%, soft green lightning flickering along his limbs.

Like the jug of milk his dad left to buy when he was four. Humble. Necessary. Overlooked. But still there.

Was it funny? No. But it was stable. It held him upright.

Was this funny? No. But it kept him upright. Controlled. Measured.

He snarled, “YEAH?! AND THAT BULLSHIT- YOU WERE HIDING YOUR QUIRK FROM ME, WEREN’T YOU? TOO GOOD TO TELL ME? TOO SPECIAL TO SHARE? WHEN DID YOU SPARK, HUH?”

Izuku flinched. “I-” but He barreled on.

Sneering, lip curled like a lit fuse. “WAS IT WHEN I STOPPED TALKING TO YOU? IS THAT IT, YOU PATHETIC HERO WANNABE?
- YOU WANTED TO BEAT ME SO BAD YOU INVENTED A DAMN QUIRK?! PULLED A POWER OUTTA NOWHERE JUST TO KEEP UP?!"

He kept shouting, flinging out theories like shrapnel.
Every scenario orbiting one sun: Izuku had sparked just to spite him .
Because Izuku couldn’t possibly exist outside his shadow.
Couldn’t possibly want something that didn’t revolve around him .

The words lodged like bone shards in his throat. I’m not-  he wanted to say. That’s not-  But the words didn’t come.

He was supposed to be better now. Stronger. U.A. had seen something in him, hadn’t they? Not just pity. Not just scraps.

But he remembered who he was. Who he chose to be.

He fought back with his brain. His training. His 2%.

He drew the blast radius away from the bomb room, away from Ochako, away from risk.
It didn’t matter that the danger was simulated. The heroism wasn’t.

It all came to a head when Bakugo screamed, “ STOP AVOIDING ME! ” and yanked the pin from one of his grenade gauntlets.

Support gear was off-limits until the safety protocols module. That had been made very clear.

All Might’s voice thundered through the speakers. “ Bakugo, STOP! That could kill him! ”

Bakugo didn’t hesitate. “ Not if he dodges! ”

He fired.

The explosion rocked the building.

For a long moment, all Izuku could hear was static. Then- All Might’s voice again, low and deadly serious.

“Heroes win. But even if they hadn’t- Bakugo would be disqualified. Young Bakugo, you better hope Young Midoriya is all right.”

Izuku wanted to sit up. Wanted to say I’m Fine .
But he wasn’t.
The pain filtered in- slow, molten. His ears rang. His skin sizzled where the blast caught him.
He blinked through smoke. His fingers twitched. He was alive. Technically. And somehow… that felt like failure.

He’d tried to be smart. Tried to lead. Tried to be a hero.
But in the end, he was still just a charity case with borrowed power.

All Might had to cancel the battle because of me.
His breath shuddered out of him.

How useless am I?

The med bots wheeled him in, the clinic lights too bright against the backs of his eyes. Recovery Girl’s lips brushed his forehead- a strange, brief warmth.

Pain peeled away in layers. Not gone. Just dulled.

“Huh. Odd,” she muttered, frowning slightly. “I thought it would take less.”

Sleep pulled him under before he could ask what she meant.

When he blinked back awake, the clock on the wall insisted he’d lost an hour.
Heroics should be over by now, he thought, dry-mouthed. His limbs still felt like someone else’s.

The door creaked open.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Recovery Girl said, peeking in with a kind smile. “You’ll be groggy for a bit- don’t go trying to play hero just yet. Sit tight, rest those bones. Want me to send in Hound Dog for a chat, or wait for your regular slot?”

Izuku shook his head.
“I can wait,” he whispered.

A lie.

One he told himself with all the conviction of a candle in the wind. 

The door clicked shut.

Silence folded over him like lead. His body ached- burned, slow and steady. And in the heat of it, his mind began to spiral.

His voice echoed in his skull- angry, cracking, relentless.

All Might’s voice- firm. Final.

They hadn’t won. Not really. Not him.
He’d stood there shaking while All Might stepped in.

Even now, His rage felt hotter than any explosion.
And him? He was just- 

The door slammed open.

“Zumies!”

Ochako burst in like a comet, grin wide, cheeks flushed pink from the run.

“You’re all right! And I got MVP! MVP , can you believe that? And it’s all thanks to you!”

Izuku blinked, startled. Ocha got MVP? he thought, a soft smile tugging at his mouth.

She barely paused to breathe. “I mean, I didn’t even think they gave MVPs for those fake battles, but I guess it’s, like, a teaching thing? Or a motivation thing? I dunno- but I totally got it!”

She spun in a slow circle, arms out. “And it wasn’t even just because Bakugo went all boom-crazy- I actually grabbed the bomb! Like, in the nick of time! Right when the building shook- bam! I reached up, slapped it, and Iida went all ‘Oh!’ like he’d swallowed a whistle!”

She giggled, elbows bent, eyes wide in imitation. “He looked like his soul left his body. And then All Might came on the comms- super serious- and was like, ‘Heroes win,’ and then just slammed Bakugo. Like, not even gentle! Just- bam!- ‘You better hope Midoriya’s okay,’ all judge-y and dramatic and All Might-y, y’know?”

Her laugh trailed off. She blinked, like she’d just realized how fast she was talking.

“…You are okay, right?”

She stood there fidgeting for a second while Izuku’s brain rebooted.

Then he laughed- quiet, surprised.

Something eased in his chest. Just a little.

I don’t need to break myself, he thought.
I deserve better than that.
I think... Maybe I’m ready.

His injuries didn’t even sting anymore.
Yeah.
He felt great.

Chapter Text

The sun rose on a new day at U.A., and Izuku felt just a little less like a rookie. The med bots were gone, and his body was whole again, but the memory of yesterday’s blast lingered- a faint echo beneath the morning's buzz. He smiled at Ochako, who helped heal his mental bruises faster than Recovery Girl healed the physical ones. Then he turned back to the front of the room, waiting for homeroom to start.

Period 1: Homeroom 8:00 – 8:15

Aizawa-Sensei entered like a hangover with a vendetta - silent, blunt, and looking like he was halfway ready to kill someone. 

“The Battle Trials went relatively well,” he started, his voice flat but not without a hint of approval. “Some of you showed strong coordination. Yaoyorozu, Shinso... you two were impressive.” He paused for just a second, letting the acknowledgment hang in the air.

Then, almost under his breath, his voice took on a more irritated edge. “But I’m not pairing you two together again. Ever.”

There was no malice behind the words, just a quiet, resolute certainty. As much as he appreciated strategy and teamwork, the sheer potential of those two working together was enough to send him into overdrive with how dangerous they could become.

He shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Additionally, Bakugo will not be participating in field activities this week. That is not up for debate.”

A pause. Just long enough for it to land.

“This is not about shame. This is about consequences. Every one of you will face them if you ignore a direct order in a combat scenario. Better you learn that here, with teachers watching, than in the field with lives on the line.”

Izuku felt something inside him tighten at those words. For a moment, he didn’t know what to think. There was a part of him that was relieved- he ... Bakugo was always pushing boundaries, always trying to push past the rules, always assuming he was untouchable.

But... seeing him- Bakugo actually face consequences? The realization hit like a punch to the gut. Izuku didn’t think he’d ever seen it happen before. Not in a way that actually meant something.

His eyes drifted to Bakugo. The explosion of rage and indignation that usually followed his every reprimand was missing. Bakugo looked... still. Almost too still.

Izuku’s chest tightened. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got caught in his throat. 

Aizawa’s eyes flicked across the room, scanning each of them one last time. “This is a lesson for all of you. No one is above the rules.”

Somehow, life continued on after that bizarre announcement. 

Period 2: Science 8:20 – 9:10

He has his first class with Sekijiro-sensei. Vlad King!!  

“Control comes from understanding,” Sensei started, the sleeve of his lab coat pushed up just far enough to reveal a faint line of old transfusion scars. “You can’t command what you don’t comprehend.”

He tapped the whiteboard, where a cellular diagram of blood vessels and plasma danced across the screen. “You think your quirk is strong? Great. But if you don’t know what it’s doing to your organs, your brain, your future- then it’s not strength. It’s a loaded weapon with no safety.”

Silence.

“Science isn’t separate from your quirk. It’s the manual you were never given.”

Izuku’s pen slowed mid-word. For the first time, he looked at his notebook not just as homework, but as a lifeline.

Period 3: Literature 9:20 – 10:10

Literature with Cementos-Sensei was just as memorable as the first time.

“Let’s talk about The Pillow Book by Sei Shonagon,” Cementos began, his tone light. “It’s full of lists- things that make the author’s heart flutter, things that annoy her. Very relatable, right? So let’s think about your own lists. What’s on your list of ‘things that get under my skin’? For instance, I’ve got a list titled ‘Things that make students roll their eyes during a lesson.’ Number one on that list is... me, of course,” he said, offering a self-deprecating smile. Izuku couldn't help but think of that morning's announcement and wonder... was this planned?

Period 4: Hero Law & Ethics 10:20 – 11:10

Then Aizawa-Sensei  came in for Hero Law & Ethics . Still riding the high of Science class, Izuku nearly vibrated out of existence. 

Awaiza-sensei didn’t pace or gesture. He leaned against the podium with his arms crossed and eyes half-lidded, as if the entire concept of posture offended him.

“There are two kinds of mistakes in hero work,” he said flatly. “One gets someone hurt. The other gets someone sued. Sometimes they’re the same mistake. Sometimes they’re not. You’re responsible either way.”

A few students shifted in their seats.

“Ignore the law? Ignore ethics? Fine. Just make sure you’re rich enough to settle lawsuits before they make headlines. And I assure you- ” he lifted his gaze just slightly, joking grin peaking out from the corner of his scarf “- none of you are.”

Izuku scribbled frantically, He didn’t just copy. He absorbed. These weren’t rules. They were survival.

A hero can’t just save people. They have to know where the lines are. They have to know when crossing one means justice... and when it means jail.

He paused, looked down at his notebook, and underlined:
KNOWING THE LAW IS A FORM OF PROTECTION.

Lunch 11:10 – 12:00

The cafeteria buzzed with low chatter and the clatter of trays, a lull in the day's intensity. Izuku sat hunched over his meal, notebook still open beside his curry like he might take notes on the rice grains. He didn’t.

Shinso dropped into the seat across from him with the air of someone who’d lost a bet with consciousness. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I miss spark orientation. At least no one assigned homework during spark orientation.”

“To be fair,” Ochako said, sliding in beside Izuku, “we didn’t have classes during orientation. Or lectures on how our quirks might be quietly murdering our internal organs.”

“Vlad-sensei talks like every sentence is a wake-up call,” Kirishima chuckled, setting down his tray with a loud clunk. “My blood felt judged.”

Tokoyami arrived with practiced solemnity, Dark Shadow floating behind him like a curious little sibling at a dinner party. “I find myself haunted by the phrase ‘loaded weapon with no safety.’ ”

“Speaking of haunted,” Dark Shadow piped up sweetly, then hurled a bread roll across the table. It bounced off Izuku’s temple with comic precision.

“ Ow- ! ”

“A roll for the cinnamon roll,” she declared, utterly pleased with herself.

Izuku blinked, startled, and then laughed. “Again? You know that could’ve gone in my eye, right?”

“Then I would’ve been eye -ronic,” Dark Shadow said brightly.

A pause. A groan from Tokoyami. “She has discovered puns. No one is safe.”

Ochako grinned. “I vote she gets her own lunch tray next time. She earned it.”

“I could throw it at him next time,” Kirishima offered, grinning. “Y’know. Share the load.”

“No.” Dark Shadow declared. “I am the carb gremlin. I bring balance to the loaf.”

They were quiet for a moment, the food between them filling the gaps in their thoughts. Conversation shifted, as it always did, toward the day's classes- Vlad's blood science monologue, Cementos’ list-making exercise (“Can we talk about how Cementos-Sensei is secretly adorable?”). But eventually, the conversation circled back- inevitably- to Aizawa’s announcement.

“So, Aizawa-sensei actually did it,” Ochako said, her voice hesitant. “He benched Bakugo for real.” 

Izuku poked at his food, looking up between his bangs.

Shinso leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Aizawa doesn’t make empty threats.” 

The words hung in the air, too heavy to brush off. Izuku shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of it all. 

“Do you think... we’ll be under more pressure now?” Kirishima asked, breaking the quiet. 

Shinso shrugged. “Aizawa’s teaching us something bigger. Accountability. It’s not just about breaking the rules. It’s about what happens when you do.” 

Izuku fidgeted with his chopsticks, his mind racing. It’s not just about strength... It's about knowing when to stop. 

Ochako stirred her soup, glancing up. “So... this is how we learn to be heroes, huh? Not just doing, but knowing when to do.” 

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore- just thoughtful.

Until Dark Shadow hit his crown with another roll, cackling.

Period 5: Free Period - Study or Journaling 12:00 – 12:50

The hum of conversation and shuffling papers filled the room as students settled into their desks. Some were already deep into homework, others lazily flipping through their journals, tapping pens against notebooks. Izuku sat at the far corner, his notebook open but his focus elsewhere. His mind was still buzzing from the weight of Aizawa’s earlier announcement. Bakugo, the one person who seemed untouchable, was now learning the consequences of his actions. Izuku found himself wrestling with the realization that heroes weren’t invincible, not even Bakugo.

He absentmindedly doodled on the page- circles within circles, spirals. The pen was a soothing rhythm in his hand, but his thoughts refused to settle. It’s not just about strength, he wrote again, underlining it once more. It’s about knowing when to stop. He added another thought: When is the right time to step back?

Period 6: Ethics Group Work 1:00 – 1:50

Then, there was another new class with Hound Dog-Sensei.

Hound Dog’s sharp eyes swept over the groups, his posture tense and predatory. He let out a low growl, the sound more felt than heard, like a warning. “Listen up,” he barked, his voice a rough rumble. “Today’s case is as real as it gets. You, as a pro hero, have been called in to stop a villain who's taken civilians hostage. You’ve got two choices.” His teeth flashed as he spoke, a dangerous edge to his words. “Option one: Take down the villain with your quirk, fast, but you might hurt a hostage in the process. Option two: Try to talk the villain down, but that gives ‘em time to hurt the hostages. You might save ‘em, but the clock’s ticking.”

His gaze bore into them, pupils narrowing, as he growled out, “What do you do? And why ?”

The tension in the air was palpable as the students in each group began talking quietly among themselves.

Izuku was paired with Shinso, the blond with the lightning-shaped hair Kaminari , and the boy who could talk to animals, Koda .

By the end of class, they still hadn’t really come to a consensus.

“Well,” Hound Dog rumbled, his voice low and gravelly as he stepped forward, his boots echoing in the tense silence. He sniffed the air, as though assessing the mood before continuing, his eyes never leaving the students. “Looks like you’re starting to get the scent of the situation,” he growled.

His gaze flickered over each student, sharp and calculating. “Heroes don’t always get to pick the perfect moment. Sometimes, you’ve got to act - and you’ve gotta do it fast. No time for hesitation.” He took a step closer, his broad form looming over them, a growl vibrating in his chest. “But you’d better remember this: every choice you make will have a mark on your conscience. You can’t run from that.”

He paused, letting the tension stretch before continuing in a deeper, more intense tone, “Sometimes, the best call isn’t the one that saves the most people. It’s the one that lets you look in the mirror without hating what you see. That’s the price of heroism. Remember it.”

The room was quiet as the students processed Hound Dog's words, each one feeling a little heavier as they left the table, the lesson having sunk deeper than they'd anticipated.

As Hound Dog turned to leave, his ears twitched. He paused- sniffed the air once, twice- like he could scent something sour in the room.

Then he barked. Loud, sharp, guttural.

“Bakugo. With me.”

No explanation. No chance to argue. The growl beneath his words was low and primal, a warning wrapped in authority.

Bakugo stiffened like he'd just heard a safety click before a detonation. He muttered something- too quiet to catch- and followed, shoulders tense. The door swung shut behind them with a solid thunk , like the end of a fuse.

Period 7: Heroics 2:00 – 4:00

While everyone was still reeling from Bakugo actually being pulled out before Heroics class- dragged off like a misbehaving mutt by Hound Dog himself- a sudden squeak from the ceiling snapped Izuku’s attention toward the front of the room.

Just in time to see a trapdoor in the ceiling swing open and Nezu - The Nezu , Principal of U.A., war strategist, possible cryptid- drop from the vents like it was perfectly normal for the head of the school to enter class like a raccoon-themed ninja.

He landed in the teacher’s chair with a polite /thump/, tail flicking as he clasped his tiny paws behind his back. “Good afternoon, my bright sparks!” he chirped.

Several students jumped. A few blinked in open horror. 

“Today’s Heroics lesson will be a little... cerebral,” Nezu went on, pouring himself a dainty cup of tea from the tray that had somehow appeared beside him. “It’s time for strategic reflection.”

His eyes twinkled.

“Today we revisit the Battle Trials- not merely to analyze Quirk usage, though that , of course, is valuable,” he said with a sip, “but to examine your choices . Your improvisation . Your teamwork under pressure .”

Izuku’s heart stuttered.

Nezu smiled wider.

“You will each take turns presenting your team’s strategy- or lack thereof,” he said, teeth just visible now. “Then your classmates will offer feedback. Kindly, constructively...” he paused, eyes scanning the room like a predator in tall grass, “...and brutally.”

He set the teacup down with a soft clink.

“Reflection,” he said softly, “is how heroes grow. Or at least, how they survive .”

Chapter Text

It seemed like Wednesday was quirk day- especially in the back half of the day.

For the Heroics courses, they had Quirk Strategy and Planning with Snipe-Sensei- a class less about firing off powers and more about when not to. He called it “tactical restraint,” which Izuku immediately wrote in bold in his notebook because yes, exactly, that , only then he tried to underline it and the pen bled through three pages. They talked about knowing your environment, your teammates, even your own limits , and it was the first time a teacher had ever said it was okay not to use your quirk if the moment didn’t call for it. It felt... revolutionary. Like someone had cracked open a door he hadn’t even realized was locked.

Then came Heroics, where they actually practiced that kind of restraint- strategic quirk usage, making choices instead of reflexes. He was certain- certain - Bakugo would explode in pure secondhand rage once he found out what he’d missed.

And yet- 

Thursday morning came, and Bakugo didn’t explode. Not even one of his little tension-pops, those sharp, crackling finger-sparks he did like a human bubble wrap when he was trying not to explode. He just sat at his desk, jaw tight, eyes narrowed- but not like a fuse lit. More like... a fuse rewired.

It was decidedly odd.

He kept expecting something. A shout. A chair thrown. Something. But Bakugo just- did his work. 

Once, during Language class, he could tell Bakugo was about to explode- Yamada-Sensei had just launched one of his legendary English puns: “How would you like to taco ‘bout your day?” he asked, grinning from behind a sombrero he’d produced like a stage magician.

Half the class groaned. Kaminari actually booed.

But Izuku had giggled , caught completely off guard. It was so dumb - so brilliantly dumb- that he’d jotted it down in the corner of his notebook next to a doodle of a very happy taco.

Bakugo, though, had visibly twitched. Sparks danced at his fingertips.

Izuku had braced himself for the outburst, but instead- 

Bakugo raised his hand. Yamada gave him a cheerful nod.

Bakugo stood, walked out of the classroom, and returned five minutes later. Calm.

It was weird.

Weirder still, Izuku didn’t have time to obsess over it. Class swept him along like a current, and suddenly he was in a lab room with Power Loader-Sensei and a gaggle of Support Course students who operated at a speed he could only describe as “chaos with a clipboard.”

He’d barely cracked open his ideas notebook during introductions when a blur of pink hair and excitement attached itself to him like an intelligent hurricane.

She was talking before he could process her name.

“Oh my god, you drew hinge joints on the leg bracing? You actually thought about torque distribution ! This is so- this is so good , what if we gave it modular soles for different terrain?! I have sketches! ”

Her name might’ve been Hatsume. It might’ve been Hurricane. Either way, she was thrilled about his notebook, and that made him... weirdly okay with her stealing it, flipping through it upside-down, and shouting across the room for scrap metal.

And then, that evening in Heroics, the momentum just kept building.

Their task was to form relay teams and strategically position themselves on a massive obstacle course that looked like someone had let a toddler design a jungle gym for tanks. Water hazards, gravity wells, a laser grid. The works.

He’d landed on a team with Todoroki and Asui- “Call me Tsu,” she’d said, all calm confidence and effortless competence. But the second they started planning, it was clear: Todoroki couldn’t hand off a baton to Tsu, not with a frozen hand. They needed someone in the middle.

So Todoroki took the first leg, all brute force and calculated destruction. Tsuyu took the final stretch, leaping through water hazards and sticky slime traps like it was a casual Sunday swim. And Izuku, in the middle, adapted. Leapt, ducked, thought fast. Even if Todoroki could have just frozen everything and made it easy, their team would have faltered had they gone that route. 

By the time Heroics was over he finally had room to breath and to realize that he felt like he’d been sewn together with friendship and desperation ever since Recovery Girl gently asked if he wanted to move his appointment up earlier that week. Thread by trembling thread. She’d given him the choice to begin sooner. And now- he was here.

But now it was time for his session and as he walked towards Hound Dog’s office thoughts swirled in his head- too fast to catch, too sharp to ignore.
Bakugo was getting the help he needed. And maybe... maybe he could get the help he needed too.

Maybe it was time to actually talk to Hound Dog.

He stared at the floor, words sticking like burrs in his throat.

" That friend I thought was getting better but wasn’t?” he asked, voice hesitant, brittle at the edges.
"I think... he really is getting better this time."

Hound Dog nodded once- slow, measured. Letting the space remain safe.

"Yeah, I think he really is.
Only..." Izuku's shoulders curled slightly inward. "He isn't my friend. Hasn't been for a long time."

He paused, breath shallow.

"And I still want what’s best for him. I’ve always wanted that. But I... I think I also want what’s best for me, too. Even if that means we have to follow our paths alone."

A longer pause.

Hound Dog tilted his head- not like a threat, but a listening animal. Alert. Present.

"And are you ready to put a name to him, pup?"

His voice was low- more gravel than growl today. No teeth, no judgment. Just the steady rumble of someone who’d seen too many kids try to gnaw through their own chains.

Izuku nodded. Small. Intent.
Like pulling a thorn out of his own heart- on purpose.

“Yeah, I am,” he said. Quiet but steady. 

“It was Bakugo.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was held.

Hound Dog didn’t scribble anything down. Just tilted his head again, ears twitching slightly in thought.

"Good work."
He let the silence linger, long enough for the words to settle like dust after a storm.

"Saying a name out loud means you’re not hiding anymore. Not from me, and not from yourself. That’s big, pup. Doesn’t mean it stops hurting. But it means you’re starting to own what happened. Not excuse it. Not explain it away. Just… claim the truth of it."

He leaned back in his seat, claws tapping softly on the armrest.

Chapter Text

Izuku felt lighter after therapy. Not like all his problems had magically vanished, but like something heavy had finally been set down. And maybe, in a way, it had.

His day wasn’t quite over yet, though. He still had to head over to Kirishima’s aunts’ place to help cat-sit with the other 1-A Sparks. He rode the train with a quiet smile, thumbing through the barrage of photos and video clips Shinso had sent.

One kitten- SpiderCat - kept mysteriously ending up on top of the fridge. No one had figured out how. Another, a stunning golden Maine Coon dubbed All Floof , had been caught on camera tackling Kirishima from various angles like a furry missile. Meanwhile, a tiny jet-black fluffball with clouded eyes and zero fear zipped through the chaos with uncanny precision. That clip was captioned: "I am vengeance. I am the night. I am Batcat."

Another video featured a creamy white kitten with dark tabby stripes named Present Meow , yowling along to Put Your Hands Up Radio . A final picture showed a gray tabby missing its right ear, curled up in Shinso’s lap under the caption: Captain Snuggles .

And presiding over them all was Madame Purrington - a sleek silver Abyssinian with a velvet-soft coat and a tiny Therapy Cat vest. Clearly the matriarch of this miniature madhouse, and possibly the only one holding onto a shred of dignity.

Izuku chuckled softly as the train pulled into his stop. He stepped onto the platform, pulled up the directions from the group chat, and switched to his maps app to make sure he didn’t accidentally walk into the wrong house full of cats. 

He focused on the maps app until he reached the house Kirishima had described- very red. Red walls, red curtains, a red tire swing, even a red mailbox. It looked like a riot had taken place. The tire swing hung lopsided, the grass was trampled flat, and the bushes looked half-dead.

He’d thought Kirishima was just being dramatic.

But for all its mess, the place still felt well-loved.

Izuku stepped up to the porch and opened the door, just like the group chat instructions said- only to be met with a panicked shout:

"CLOSE THE DOOR! CLOSE THE DOOR!"

Too late.

Five kittens rocketed past his legs and scattered into the neighborhood like tiny, fuzzy missiles.

The Great Kitten Chase had begun.

They spotted SpiderCat first- perched dramatically on the chimney of the tallest house on the block, tail twitching like a villain mid-monologue.

He doesn’t even have a quirk, Ochako whispered in awe.

“How did he get up there?” Shinso muttered. “And how do we get him down?”

“Dark Shadow?” Tokoyami offered, already summoning his companion with caution. “Though he may be… small. And extremely wriggly.”

“Like a furry bolt of greased lightning,” Kirishima added grimly.

They hauled the rickety old ladder out from the garage. Tokoyami went up first, hands outstretched and voice soothing. Just as he reached for the kitten, a blur of black fur zipped past below.

“Batcat!” Ochako shouted, pivoting on a dime. “She’s making a break for the fence!”

“Eyes up,” Shinso warned as the ladder gave a worrying creak. “We’ll have to catch her later.”

“I almost had her,” Ochako grumbled, brushing leaves from her hair and dignity from her face.

“Safety first,” Izuku cut in, eyes darting between Tokoyami’s boots and the ladder’s sad wobble. “We do not want Tokoyami and Dark Shadow to fall!”

They stabilized the ladder with two bodies and one hastily sacrificed hoodie. After a few more tense minutes- and a distant, unmistakable yowl that could only belong to Present Meow- they finally got SpiderCat down.

He purred once.

Then immediately yeeted himself at the nearest light pole.

Shinso caught him mid-air, face blank with betrayal. “No.”

After safely depositing SpiderCat back into Mission HQ (read: the laundry room with snacks), the team followed the sound of dramatic yowling down the block.

They found Present Meow lounging in the passenger seat of a stranger’s unlocked car, basking in the glory of full stereo volume. Dance music pounded from the speakers. He was howling along in perfect rhythm- off-key, of course, but with conviction.

A new song started. He batted the radio with one paw and changed it.

“He has taste,” Shinso observed.

“He turned on the radio?” Izuku asked, mystified.

“Nope,” Kirishima replied. “Kimura-san has one of those keyless ignition cars. He probably stepped on the start button.”

Present Meow allowed himself to be extracted by Kirishima- barely- to the swelling anthem of We Are the Champions, yowling the whole way. Kirishima held him securely in both arms like a sleepy gremlin prince, enduring the occasional dramatic paw swipes with heroic patience. The kitten’s glare felt like a diva’s curse.

Just as they turned to head back, a blur of black fur zipped between Kirishima’s legs.

“Batcat- !” he yelped, stumbling.

“I’ve got her!” Ochako declared, launching after the blur like a determined Pokémon trainer.

She was immediately bush-blocked. Again.

“Why are they always thorny?” she muttered from the shrub.

Izuku sighed and helped steady Kirishima, eyeing the scratch marks. “Well... at least your quirk keeps them shallow.”

“She’s hunting us,” Shinso added, glancing into the shadows. “I respect it.”

They resumed the hunt after dropping Present Meow off, but didn’t get far before a local retiree waved them down from his porch. A gray tabby with one ear was curled contentedly in his lap, purring like he’d always belonged there.

“He just climbed up and sat,” the man said, gently offering him over. “Good little fella. You sure he ain’t mine?”

Shinso accepted the kitten, now snuggled against his chest in a snooze-coma. “He’s everyone’s,” he said simply.

Ochako scooped him up a moment later, giggling as she skipped back toward Mission HQ with the kitten tucked in her arms like a baby.

Izuku lingered a second. In the shadow of a hedge, milky eyes watched them- Batcat.

She’s blind, he realized. So how does she always know where we are? Was she trying to rescue the others from us? Is she letting us go because Captain Snuggles is safe? Does she have a quirk? Or super hearing? Or just... instincts? She’s such a cool kitten.

He kept his eyes on her as Captain Snuggles was dropped off. This one’s gonna be a chase.

Tokoyami caught up to Izuku, shaking his head. “We lost your soul in the shuffle.”

Dark Shadow loomed behind him, voice low and teasing. “Fumi-nii means ‘Why did you stay behind?’”

Izuku opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, a streak of black fur exploded past.

“BatCat!” he shouted, sprinting after her.

The chase was on.

The air snapped with the urgency of the hunt- feet pounding over cracked pavement, hands brushing past tangled branches. Shadows darted and flickered like tricksters in a game only Batcat seemed to know.

Every blink risked losing her again- like trying to grasp smoke with bare fingers.

Izuku’s breath hitched, every heartbeat pounding like a drum in his ears. His eyes scanned the neighborhood- a frantic search for the tiny shadow slipping between branches and fences, teasing him with every blink.

Behind him, voices echoed- plans shouted, feet skidding, a chorus of ‘where is she?’ and ‘she went that way!’

Then Ochako’s sharp voice cut through the chaos:

“I have eyes on the Bat.” She was pointing at a small black blur tearing across a nearby lawn. “She’s doing laps.”

“She’s blind!” Kirishima protests. 

“She knows,” Shinso replied, grimly impressed.

They scattered into the yard, muscles tensing as eyes darted between bushes, fences, and tree trunks.

Batcat was everywhere and nowhere- one second a flash of black fur tearing across the garden, the next swallowed whole by a thick hedge.

“Over here!” Ochako called, lunging toward a flicker behind the rosebush- only to find empty leaves swaying in the breeze.

Izuku twisted on his heel, spotting a sleek shadow disappear onto the fence. He sprinted, but she slipped just out of reach, melting into the branches like smoke.

Kirishima dropped to the ground, breathing hard, heart pounding against the earth. He crawled forward, whispering, “I believe in you, small dark knight,” fingers trembling as he offered a trembling hand.

The world held its breath- then with a sudden soft thump, Batcat gave up the chase, flopping into his arms like a secret finally uncovered, purring like a tiny, victorious engine.

They were coming down from the adrenaline high of chasing Batcat when a worrying realization broke the silence.

“...Where’s All Floof?” Kirishima asked, eyes darting around. “Guys- All Floof’s not here.”

A scream rang out in the distance. A golden blur crashed through a backyard kiddie pool. A garden gnome flew.

“SHE’S IN TANAKA-SAN’S YARD!” Kirishima screamed.

Wasn’t that the neighborhood association president? The one Kirishima said was really strict?

All Floof emerged from the chaos like a tiny conqueror, fur matted with mud and dripping with backyard battle scars. Clutched between her teeth was a whole rotisserie chicken, feathers and dignity both thoroughly ruffled. She strutted like the queen of stolen dinners, tail high and eyes gleaming with mischief.

She didn’t even try to dodge capture- like she knew she couldn’t top the chaos she’d already unleashed.

All kittens accounted for, the group decided to do their best to make things right with the neighbors. Shinso was left to keep an eye on the mischief makers while the rest of them set to work on the aftermath of the chaos.

Kirishima, face a shade of red that almost matched the house, sheepishly pulled out his wallet and offered up his cat-sitting earnings. “I’ll, uh, pay for the replacement chicken. All Floof really went to town on that thing…”

Izuku, still damp from his impromptu kiddy pool rescue mission, paused his refilling efforts to give him a thumbs-up. “Yeah, that chicken was, uh, very well earned. Don't worry, I’ve got the pool back in order.”

Ochako, hands full with stray toys and random bits of cat fur, grinned while trying to organize the mess. Meanwhile, Tokoyami and Dark Shadow had somehow managed to scrounge up a tube of super glue and were carefully piecing together the broken garden gnome, Dark Shadow muttering something about art while balancing the tiny pieces in place.

By the time Kirishima’s aunt came home, the yard was almost back to its original state- minus the missing rotisserie chicken and a slightly lopsided gnome. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, taking in the scene with a mixture of exhaustion and bemusement.

“You kids,” she started, her voice stern but not unkind, “Honestly, I can’t leave you for five minutes without something turning into a disaster.”

They stood in a line, awaiting their lecture, though none of them could quite hold back the sheepish smiles.

Kirishima, still red-faced, spoke up first. “Auntie Akane, We really didn’t mean to- ”

“I don’t care what you meant ,” Akane interrupted with a pointed look at the roof. “Mr. Takeda called and told me what you did up there with SpiderCat. You went up on a roof - on a rickety ladder! Someone could have been killed! ”

Shinso, who had been watching the kittens play under his watchful eye, glanced up nervously. “We... kind of got carried away.”

“I can see that.” Akane shook her head, though there was a hint of amusement in her expression. “Next time, just call me, okay? Don’t try to fix it all by yourselves. Especially with SpiderCat. You kids have no idea how dangerous that was.”

Izuku, looking a little sheepish as he finished adjusting the kiddy pool, chimed in. “Sorry, we should’ve asked for help sooner.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima added, rubbing the back of his neck. “But we got it all sorted out now, right?”

Akane exhaled, the frustration melting into a sigh. “I’m not saying you didn’t try to fix things, but I don’t need any more near-death experiences in my yard. Or kids going missing... Call me next time, okay?”

“Understood,” they all muttered in unison, and after a pause, Kirishima nudged Shinso. “Hey, you did a pretty good job keeping SpiderCat under control, by the way.”

Shinso raised an eyebrow. “I just didn’t want to climb that ladder.”

Everyone cracked a smile at that, the tension easing up just a bit.

“Well,” Akane said, shaking her head fondly, “At least you learned your lesson. Look, the kittens get out all the time. Just... no more catnip or rickety ladders, alright?”

They all nodded vigorously, a few glances exchanged over the “nip” incident that had kicked things off.

Akane gave them all a final look, her lips twitching with an unwilling smile. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you off this time. But next time, you better have called me. Deal?”

“Deal,” they all chorused.

And with that, the kittens safely corralled and the yard mostly restored, the Great Kitten Chase was finally over.

Chapter Text

When Izuku got to school the next day, he immediately noticed the seating chart had been rearranged. Everyone had a new spot- but his eyes locked onto one detail.

He and Bakugo were now on opposite ends of the room.

His first thought: Was this... for me?

It felt surgical. Thoughtful. Someone- probably multiple someone's- had planned this with the precision of a hostage negotiation. Bakugo could slip out of the room quietly. Izuku didn’t have to pass him. They’d eliminated the chance for casual collisions entirely. It was weird. And... complicated.

Ashido, ever the brave, raised an eyebrow and started to ask about it- but one look from Aizawa shut that down hard. A perfectly timed glare that said: Don’t. Ask.

Then he sighed and spoke- not about the seating, though.

“In case you missed it, on the class schedule tomorrow is Seminar Day,” he said, voice flat. “Please make sure you know which seminar you wish to attend and be in the correct room. There will be no homeroom.” Then with a glare, he added, “Do not be late.”

And that was that. No time to dwell. Literature bled into Art History, then Calculus. The day slid by with mechanical efficiency, and suddenly it was lunch.

Lunch was going well. Suspiciously well, actually.

No chaos, no surprise announcements, no emotionally volatile outbursts- just trays of food, cafeteria chatter, and the comforting clatter of chopsticks. Even Dark Shadow hadn’t beamed him with a bread roll yet, which was frankly a miracle.

Izuku let himself exhale, just a little. Maybe today really could be normal.

And then, inevitably, the topic came up.

“So,” Kirishima said, trying for casual as he speared a meatball like it had insulted his mother, “anyone else notice the seating shuffle? That was kinda wild- ”

“I didn’t notice anything,” Izuku said way too fast, voice wobbling as he nearly choked on a mouthful of rice. “I mean. It’s fine. Just... seats.”

The silence that followed was immediate and deeply suspicious.

Tokoyami paused mid-sip of his miso soup. Dark Shadow, perched behind him like a judgmental cloud, narrowed her eyes.

“You’re no longer next to Boom-Boy,” she said, each word like a feather-dagger lobbed with precision. “That’s more than just seats.”

Izuku made a sound. It wasn’t a scream. It wasn’t a sob. It was... something in between. Like a wheeze and a whimper had a baby. A stressed-out, socially anxious baby.

He could feel the heat crawling up his neck, blooming like a slow-motion explosion under his freckles. Of course they’d noticed. Everyone had noticed. He had noticed. He’d spent half the morning trying not to notice how his new seat put a full fifteen feet of classroom real estate, two desks, and one conveniently placed support pillar between him and Baukugo.

Was this for me? he’d wondered, stupidly, as if anyone would go to that much trouble on his behalf. But it had been weirdly deliberate. The exit path. The angle. Even Baukugo's desk was turned just slightly, positioned so he wouldn’t have to look at him. Or so Izuku wouldn’t have to look at him.

He didn’t know which possibility was worse.

Ochako was the one to intervene first. She shot Dark Shadow a look- a very specific kind of look, the kind that said please don’t emotionally shank my friend during lunchtime carbs. It didn’t quite stop the awkward energy from curling in the air, but it helped.

Then Shinso- blessed, deadpan Shinso- jumped in like a surgeon with a scalpel.

“So. Who do we think the mystery guest is for Heroics this afternoon?” he asked, tone flat and impeccably timed.

Izuku grabbed his juice box like it was a flotation device in open water and mouthed a grateful thank you into the straw.

Dark Shadow rolled her eyes, but let it go.

Lunch resumed.
---
After lunch, they had Language Arts- mercifully uneventful- and then a free period, which most students spent nervously speculating about the upcoming class. Combat Applications with Thirteen and ??? the schedule had said, ominously vague.

Izuku had tried not to fixate on the mystery guest, but that only made his brain invent progressively more terrifying options. By the time they reached Training Ground Z, he was mentally prepared for anything.

Or so he thought.

"Hello, students!" Thirteen greeted them with their usual chipper tone, arms raised as if welcoming them to a theme park and not, say, a battle simulation that might ruin them emotionally and physically. "Today, we’ll be going over Combat Applications. This week’s focus is not on your quirks, but on your bodies! "

A ripple of confusion passed through the class. There were glances exchanged, eyebrows raised. Izuku’s stomach twisted, a creeping sense of foreboding slinking up his spine.

"To that end," Thirteen continued, still far too cheerful, "we’ll be playing a game of tag! Just a few simple rules!"

They gestured grandly, and a projector board descended from the ceiling with a whirr-click, displaying the words in enormous, undeniably ominous text.

“Rule One: No Quirk Usage.” Thirteen read out with joy. 

There was a collective pause, a hush of breath and unease. Izuku felt it like static under his skin. No quirks?

Just him. And his legs. And a prayer.

"Rule Two!" Thirteen called out, voice bright. "If you’re tagged, you’re out until you can get back on your feet!"

The tension ratcheted up another notch. A few students were already shifting on their toes, subtle prepping. Good instincts, Izuku thought. Too late, his anxiety hissed.

"Rule Three!" Thirteen announced, grinning now with a gleam that could only be described as predatory. " The game ends when no one can get back up for ten seconds. "

That was when it hit Izuku- they were just standing here. Standing. Listening to the rules. Stationary. Which meant- 

He turned, heart already racing, trying to get even a single step ahead, but- 

"Rule Four," Thirteen added, voice too calm, "Your hunter has entered the gym and the game has begun. Take it from here, Mirko!"

The world tilted.

The gym doors slammed open.

And there she was- Mirko, the Rabbit Hero, grinning like this was fun, like they were prey, cracking her knuckles as she crouched low.

"Run, kids," she said, voice all teeth and joy.

Izuku ran.

At first, it was chaos.

Someone screamed- probably Kaminari. Someone else cursed- definitely Sero. Izuku didn’t wait to find out who got tagged first. His legs moved before his brain could finish saying run, and suddenly he was bolting across the gym floor, shoes skidding on polished tile.

No quirks. That was the rule. Which meant no Full Cowling, no speed boosts, no fancy tricks- just his own legs and fifteen years of residual anxiety.

He caught a glimpse of her- Mirko, white hair flying, expression alight like she’d been waiting all week for this. Shoji went down first, tagged in a blur. Then Sato. Then Sero.

"That’s three!” Mirko called out, delighted.

Izuku ducked behind a stack of mats, gasping. Think. Think. He’d trained for months without a quirk. He knew how to move. But Mirko? Mirko was built like a missile in sneakers.

“Izuku?” Ochako's voice hissed from the other side of the mats. “You alive?”

“Barely,” he whispered.

Dark Shadow’s head popped down from the rafters, blinking. “She’s circling like a shark.”

“We need a plan,” Shinso said. “Before she wipes the whole board.”

And somehow, they cobbled one together. Kirishima would bait her left. Ochako would ‘trip.’ Shinso would talk. Tokoyami and Izuku would dive at her legs and pray for divine intervention.

“Break!” whispered Kirishima.

It almost worked.

Mirko pounced for the bait, Kirishima’s war cry echoing. Ochako hit the ground in an Oscar-worthy fall. Shinso shouted- nothing quirk-related, just loud- and Izuku and Tokoyami lunged together, aiming low.

And then suddenly- air. Izuku was in the air. Her grip was firm but somehow not painful, and the world turned sideways before she gently plopped him on his back like a sack of regret.

"Nice try, nerd squad,” she said, grinning wide. “But not nice enough."

She pivoted away before he could even groan.

Tokoyami flopped beside him, wheezing.

“We’re... not out,” Izuku gasped. “We can stand.”

“…Do we want to?” Tokoyami croaked.

Mirko was already back in motion, a blur bounding toward Kaminari.

Izuku rolled over, braced his hands on the floor, and dragged himself upright.

Because the rule was clear: you’re out until you get back on your feet.

So he stood.

Because he always stood.

Chapter Text

The door hadn’t even finished swinging shut behind Izuku before a voice hit him with the force of an air cannon and the volume of a halftime show.

“WELCOME TO GEAR GLORY!”

Izuku was almost certain ‘Hurricane’ wasn’t her legal surname, but it was the only one he could remember. She was standing atop a table remaking a lamp into a small drone.

She beamed down at the class. Or perhaps at the ceiling. Or into the void, daring it to blink first.

“Some of you might survive this seminar! ” she cheered.

Izuku sat down at the end of a long table, blinking. His assigned seat had a personal field tool kit, a multipage support log labeled with his name, and- strangely- a pamphlet called "Mid-Combat Maintenance: Do You Have Time to Bleed?"

To his right, a steely-looking student with silver skin and Kirishima’s manner of speaking was high-fiving the real Kirishima. They were already bickering about whether to turn the bolt left or right, and how manly they are. Izuku wasn’t really sure what manliness had to do with bolt turning. But the bolt seemed sturdy enough to survive the debate, so he let them have it.

From the front of the room Powerloader coughed and Hurricane pouted before hopping off the desk and into her chair.

“Hello everyone,” Powerloader began. “Today we will be working on a series of specific tasks revolving around gear maintenance, upkeep, and emergency repair. There will be no inventing new gadgets in this seminar. Looking at you Hatsume” 

So that’s her name! Izuku wrote it in his notebook. 

Beside him, Iida was already scribbling furiously in a notebook. Momo Yaoyorozu, sitting two chairs down, raised a hand politely to ask about optimal storage temperatures for synthetics.

“Alright, no more fluff.” Powerloader continued after answering Yaoyorozu’s question. “This seminar’s all about real work. And real work means real mistakes. So, don’t get comfortable.”

A dark-haired student sat three rows up, with spiky black hair. He hasn't introduced himself. His eyes were shaped like quiet judgment. Izuku tried not to look like someone who’d just tried to take his pulse with a multimeter.

The first hour passed in a flurry of checklists, laminated diagrams, and tool orientation. Izuku fumbled with a torque wrench twice before figuring out which end wasn’t a handle. 

“Try not to lose a finger before we get started.” Shinso muttered, without looking up. “I hear it makes writing reports harder.”

The class was divided into work pairs and handed malfunctioning gear to inspect. Rips, tears, missing screws, and any other type of problem that might prevent support gear from working.

Izuku’s assignment was a reinforced arm brace used to stabilize force-based quirk output. A note clipped to it read, in red marker: Find the error before it finds you.

As Izuku dug into the diagnostics sheet, the silver Kirishima clone- Tetsutetsu, he heard Kirishima call him- accidentally shorted a circuit. A thin stream of smoke curled upward.

“We are not fixing the gear yet! Focus on finding the problems!” Powerloder-Sensei scolded. 

Tetsutetsu blinked. “I think it just blinked back at me.”

Kaminari had somehow gotten two gloves stuck on the same hand. Iida’s gear- a mobility booster designed to snap to his calves- was whirring ominously.

Right. He thought. Diagnose. 

After some careful analysis Izuku had discovered a hairline fracture in the locking mechanism used to keep the brace in place. He bit his lip, what if there’s more wrong with it?
So he kept at it and eventually discovered  a missing screw - one essential to the stabilization of the force output sensors. According to the diagram it could lead to the sensors being fed false data.

He was going to check everything once more to see if he missed anything when Powerloader-Sensei called everyone up to the front where there were chairs around a table.
Everyone sat. Well, mostly everyone. 

Hatsume didn’t at first.

“This is the boring part!” she shouted, flinging a wrench into the whiteboard... which thankfully did not explode.

Then Powerloader did his gentle cough thing resulting in Hatsume sitting down with a pout. Again.  “But it’s the one that keeps your arms from falling off.” Powerloader said with a weary sigh. 

Izuku pulled out his notebook.

Emergency field repair, according to Powerloader-Sensei, was part science, part instinct, and part praying to the mechanical gods that you caught all the flaws before they caught you.

“If it sparks and it’s not supposed to be sparking, fix it.”

“If it stops sparking and it should be, panic.”

“And if you hear a click followed by a beep- run. ”

Shinso leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, as if trying to will the entire lecture into a shorter runtime.

Kaminari raised a hand to ask what would happen if you did use chewing gum and duct tape.

Powerloader-Sensei doesn’t even blink.

“You’d be surprised how often that works - once. Twice if you bribe the gear with energy drinks and promises.”

Once they were released from the lecture the started room was buzzing with chaotic energy that only a room full of heroes-in-training, or with a single Hatsume, could produce. A harmonious clash of metal, sparks, and shouts. Izuku’s hands moved carefully, guided by muscle memory and the knowledge he’d absorbed in the past couple hours. The arm brace was his responsibility, and there was no time for hesitation now.

He had just finished securing the stabilizer with a replacement screw when the voice of the black-haired boy came, calm and sharp. Izuku’s brow furrowed as he glanced back at the boy’s station, noticing the welding at work. Was that... his finger?

“You missed a secondary crack,” the boy murmured, eyes locked on the brace. Izuku turned back to his own station and followed the boy’s gaze. A thin crack, barely noticeable, ran just below the base. If it splits there... Izuku’s stomach sank. His first repair wouldn’t matter.

The boy, unphased by the world around him, applied metal to the crack as if it was second nature, sealing the flaw with the precision of someone who had been doing this for far longer than anyone realized. Finger welding, Izuku thought with awe.

“Thanks,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. “I’m Izuku Midoriya, by the way.”

The black-haired boy gave him a curt nod, the corners of his mouth betraying no emotion. Then, without another word, he turned back to his own repairs, the quiet efficiency in his movements speaking volumes.

Izuku went back to his own work, focusing harder. Mei's voice floated over the noise of the room, shouting something about "spontaneous reassembly under duress" as sparks flew from a nearby bench. Kaminari- unfazed as always- was adding his own unique energy to the chaos; a loud zapping from his station sent a jolt through Izuku’s focus.

In a way, the chaos was calming- no one else seemed to break their concentration, even as sparks flew and things beeped. This is how it’s supposed to be, he thought. Focused chaos, controlled in the way only people who can handle the pressure do.

By the end of the hour, the arm brace was stable, stronger than it had been when Powerloader-Sensei first handed it to him. The repair kit, now a regular extension of his own gear, was neatly arranged beside him. Powerloader-Sensei approached, giving a sharp look to a few of the students before nodding at Izuku’s work.

“Well done, Midoriya,” he said, eyes scanning the brace. “You’ve earned yourself the right to keep that Emergency Maintenance Tool Kit as part of your costume. Don’t lose it, or I might have to come for your hands.”

Izuku's heart swelled with pride as he looked at the tool kit. A small, unexpected victory, but one he knew he would treasure.

“It was so manly of Sensei to include gum in these toolkits,” Kirishima said, popping a stick in and chewing like it was victory itself.

“Yes. Exactly what I needed,” Shinso deadpanned. “Something to make my jaw sore.”

Izuku simply beamed at his friends, clutching his Emergency Maintenance Toolkit like it was sacred. He nearly dropped it, though, when Ochako barreled up, shouting, “Look at all these lunch vouchers!”

She practically shoved two fistfuls of coupons into his face.

“You only could earn two at a time but the quiz was so easy , and they were just sitting there at the prize table! Free lunches! Can you believe it?! All I had to do was do some basic accounting and sales trajectory stuff. It wasn’t that different from when I helped my parents with the books back home! And then they asked us a simple question about...”

As she bounced alongside them through the cafeteria line, Izuku wondered, Is this what it feels like when I- oh no- do I sound like this all the time?

They loaded their trays and made their way to where Dark Shadow loomed ominously over the back of a painting.

“It’s as dark as your soul, Fumi-nii! ” she cackled.

Tokoyami, blushing fiercely, revealed his work- a gorgeously gothic rendering of a mist-drenched forest, all blacks and greys and aching moonlight.

“It was part of the seminar,” he murmured. “I look forward to painting my body as I painted this scene.”

“He means the fashion seminar,” Dark Shadow supplied helpfully. “He wants a new outfit.”

“Oh! Me too! ” Ochako chimed in. “I know I got approved by Kayama-sensei! But i’ve been wanting to tweak my costume design- I think the seminar will really help!”

“Fashion sounds exhausting,” Shinso muttered. “I’m heading to the escape room. Might be the only place I can nap in peace.”

“Dude, that’s so unmanly! ” Kirishima laughed. “I’ll be there too! We’ve gotta solve the puzzle, not sleep through it!”

Izuku laughed along- but his voice wobbled slightly.

“Ah,” he said, trying for casual. “I guess it’s just me building support gear, then!”

It sounded lonelier out loud than it had in his head.

The others didn’t comment, though. Just a chorus of encouragement followed, with Kirishima giving him a clap on the back and a final, “That sounds so manly, Midoriya!”

And then they all split off, scattering like dust in the wind.

Powerloader starts with the deadpan weariness of a man who's already buried the evidence.

“Today we’re going to talk about how not to become a flaming cautionary tale.”

He cues up a video. It features students setting fires...melting things they shouldn’t, and- Izuku squints- is that Hatsume causing a hurricane?

Izuku scribbles furiously.

Do not weld near flammable materials , he writes. Then again. Then a third time, underlined and circled.

A tall, bear-like boy asks a surprisingly thoughtful question about gear compatibility. Every “KRAKOOM!” from the back row makes Izuku flinch. Especially when a quiet kid with shadowed eyes halfway down the row just... vanishes.

A familiar voice of reason draws his eyes sideways. Yaoyorozu-san- his classmate- is already flipping through the handout, brow furrowed, entirely focused.

Izuku, awash in nerves, makes a decision: She is my anchor. My safety partner. My academic lighthouse.

Then comes the hands-on portion: a wearable grappling launcher. Powerloader-Sensei  walks them through the process step by step, voice as flat and mechanical as the parts they’re assembling.

“You’ll need to pass an inspection to use the lab freely,” he says. “So follow the instructions. Carefully.”

Hatsume finishes in five minutes. Her launcher skitters across the table like a startled crab, clicks, and fires a hook into the wall.

Powerloader doesn’t flinch. Just gestures toward a side door.

“Workshop B. And don’t weld anything upside-down this time.”

She salutes and vanishes, already sparking something in the next room.

His hands tremble. Wires tangle. A screw disappears into the void. Something behind him hisses.

This is fine , he thinks. This is comp- 

“Your launching mechanism is reversed.”

The voice is soft. Calm. Yaoyorozu-san leans over, gloved hands already rotating the piece with quiet precision.

He doesn’t cry. Just trembles a bit. Blinks too hard. Quietly.

It takes him the entire seminar, but his grappling launcher works .

Powerloader nods once. “Want this added to your hero costume?” 

Like he hadn’t just watched a full-blown emotional crisis unfold.

Izuku nods so hard his head nearly falls off.

He's still nodding when the bell rings.

The hallway outside the workshop is quiet, golden with afternoon light. Izuku walks like someone in a dream, cradling the still-warm grappling launcher like it might vanish if he blinks too hard.

Then- 

“ What do you MEAN you didn’t add my First Aid course to the Seminar Schedule?! ”

Izuku freezes mid-step.

A door slams. “I waited for eight hours! Not one student! Not even a lost one! And you're telling me- it was YOUR fault?! ”

Her voice is tiny. Grandmotherly. Weaponized.

“I brought gummies! I brought BANDAGES! I had CPR dummies shaped like the kids! ”

Deep inside, his anxiety salutes.

He tiptoes past, clutching the launcher and his maintenance kit.

It does work. Probably. Possibly. Maybe.

If he ever survives Recovery Girl’s wrath to use it.

Chapter Text

Izuku was chilling in his room, the beats of Put Your Hands Up Radio echoed through his headphones as he worked on his Hero Analysis For The Future: Classroom Edition.

"Hero Analysis on Momo Yaoyorozu..." he muttered to himself, tapping the end of his mechanical pencil against the page. Maybe I should focus more on her strategic mind… He was about to write again when- 

Bzzzzt.

Izuku sighed at the interruption, biting his pencil before pulling out his phone. The flood of messages already rolling in made him grin.

✨ We Don’t Talk About Spark Club ✨

Drama Bean :
I just so happen to be at that new arcade today.
If any of you think you have a shot at besting me, feel free to show up.
Not that I want any 1-A trash ruining my Sunday,
but a challenge might be... welcome.

Shield-Nii :
Manly!! 💪 I’ll be there soon!

Fumi-Nii :
Dark Shadow says she can beat you in skee ball, so I suppose I must let her prove herself.

Upsy-Daisy :
Yeah! I’ll beat all of you in DDR!

Izuku smiled softly as he scrolled through the chat. The idea of another group outing was enough to pull him out of his homework mood. /Maybe a little break won’t hurt.../

He leaned back in his chair, resting his pencil behind his ear, as the familiar mix of excitement and camaraderie bubbled up inside him. It was always nice to hang out with his friends, and Monoma started the invite? That was real progress! A challenge at the arcade? That sounded like the perfect chance to let off some steam.

✨ We Don’t Talk About Spark Club ✨

Zumies :
I’m not sure I’ll be any good, but I’ll try to give you a challenge, Monoma!

Izuku hit send with a grin. He might not be the best at arcade games, but that wasn’t the point. It was more about the fun of it all. He stood up, and called out to his mom “I’m going out with some friends!” as he made his way to the door. A little friendly competition was just what he needed.

The arcade was alive with flashing lights, the hum of machines, and the occasional shout of victory. Izuku, Kirishima, and Ochako had already found their way to a racing game, the neon glow of the screen making everything feel more energetic than usual.

At the Skee Ball machines, Monoma had already claimed a lane, smirking with confidence. Dark Shadow stood beside him, vibrating with an excitement Izuku hadn’t expected.

Izuku leaned against one of the nearby machines, feeling a grin tug at his lips. “I think we’re in for a show.”

Monoma flicked a glance at Dark Shadow. “Alright, I’ve got this. Just try not to embarrass yourselves too badly.”

Dark Shadow didn’t respond with words, just a playful tilt of her head. Without another word, she launched her first ball with an almost lazy flick of her hand. Thud! It landed perfectly in the 100-point target.

The group blinked. Then they saw the second ball launch down the lane and then with a graceful arc through the air, hitting another 100-pointer. Thud, thud.

Monoma raised an eyebrow, trying to match her rhythm. But every ball Dark Shadow sent barreled toward the top point with pinpoint precision. She finished with a perfect score- no wasted movements, no unnecessary rolls.

Izuku couldn’t help it. “Well, that’s... ridiculous.”

Monoma threw his hands up in mock defeat. “What kind of trickery is this?”

Dark Shadow simply grinned, her glowing eyes full of mischief. “You were blind to the storm on the horizon, and now you stand in the ruins, wondering how it all fell apart.” Fumikage sighed. He clearly knew this was coming.

"Alright, alright," Monoma said, brushing himself off dramatically, “I’ll let her have this round. But I’m absolutely dominating DDR.”

They rounded up Ochako and Kirishima arguing over who won the racing game and moved to the DDR machine, where the flashing arrows began to pulse on the screen, the familiar beat of the music starting to fill the air. Ochako jumped up first, excited to show off her moves. She was light on her feet, hopping and spinning with surprising agility. The crowd gathered around her, cheering her on as she got a solid score.

“Not bad!” Monoma called out, giving her a thumbs-up. "But can you do this?"

Without waiting for a response, Monoma jumped onto the machine. The music kicked up a notch, and he moved faster than Izuku expected- every arrow hit with perfect timing, his movements smooth and calculated. His score flashed perfect as he stepped off, smirking triumphantly.

Izuku’s mouth dropped open. “No way…”

Monoma shrugged with exaggerated humility. “What can I say? I’ve got reaction time to spare.”

Fumikage was next, moving with the same precision that made him an incredible fighter, but even he couldn’t top Monoma’s flawless performance. It was as if Monoma had mastered every pattern without even thinking about it.

Izuku chuckled to himself. “Guess we know who the DDR king is.”

Monoma raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You think you can do better?”

Izuku smiled. “Maybe not better, but I’ll give it a shot.”

The group shuffled aside as Izuku stepped up to the DDR machine. His legs were a little stiff from sitting for so long, but his eyes gleamed with determination. He’d never played DDR before, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He’d been watching the others closely, noticing the rhythm, the flow, the timing. Pattern recognition, something he had worked so hard to master.

“Let’s see it, Zumies!” Ochako cheered from the sidelines, her voice full of excitement.

Izuku cracked his knuckles and put his foot on the starting platform, positioning himself carefully. As the music began to thrum through the speakers, the arrows appeared on the screen. Izuku’s eyes locked onto them instantly, scanning for the pattern.

Up, down, left, right

His first few steps were tentative, more cautious than his usual self-assured movements. He even missed one of the opening arrows. But it didn’t take long before he settled into the rhythm, his body shifting fluidly with the beat, his legs tapping in sync with the arrows. The others watched in surprise as Izuku’s movements became more confident. He was practically flowing with the song.

Monoma, who had been leaning against the machine, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Okay, didn’t see that coming.”

Izuku didn’t respond - his focus was locked in. He wasn’t just matching the arrows; he was predicting them. His body adjusted seamlessly to the speed, making sharp turns and quick steps. The pattern was like a puzzle, and Izuku had cracked it. There was no hesitation, no overthinking - just pure, instinctive movement.

A few seconds later, the score flashed on the screen.

Izuku had scored just shy of perfect - not quite a full combo, but close enough to turn heads.

“Whoa,” Kirishima said, eyes wide with disbelief. “That was insane, man!”

Izuku stepped off the platform, breathing a little harder than expected but grinning. “Guess I’ve got some moves after all.”

Monoma gave him an unreadable look. “I still beat you by a point.”

Before Izuku could respond, Kirishima spotted a punching game nearby. “Man, I have to try this!”

Kirishima effortlessly demolished the score with a grin. Monoma, not one to be shown up, showed how he could perfectly score the JACKPOT on one of those rigged flashing jackpot machines. 

Everyone took turns at different games, but as the afternoon wore on, it wasn’t the high scores that mattered. It was the laughter, the jokes, and the shared moments of failure that made it special.

At the end of it all, Izuku used his tickets on small prizes and handed them out to younger kids as they made their way out of the arcade. The mood was still bright, still echoing with leftover laughter-

Until it wasn’t.

That laughter faltered, then stopped altogether as they stepped into the open and saw the police barricade near the mall's entrance. A checkpoint, cordoned with yellow tape and guarded by uniformed officers.

He spotted Tsukauchi-sensei near the front. The detective’s usual tired calm was gone, replaced with something sharper. Grim.

Izuku worried his lip, dread curling in his chest. What’s happening?

They reached the front. Tsukauchi gave a curt nod.

“Hello, kids,” he said, his mouth a tight line. “I’m afraid I have to ask you some questions.”

He held up a photograph: a young girl with long blue hair in a purple dress.

“Have you seen this girl anywhere?”

Chapter Text

Izuku was still thinking about that girl as he got ready for school. Quirkless... she was quirkless , he thought sadly. He fumbled with his tie, not having the heart to fix it.

He was morose the entire way to school, barely nodding at Ochako at the train station. He couldn’t even muster a wave at the rest of the group at the front gates. By the time he arrived in homeroom, he barely noticed Aizawa-Sensei walking in.

"Listen up," Aizawa-Sensei said dryly. "Today, you’ll be doing something that will impact your entire student career."

He let the tension build for half a second before deadpanning, "It’s time to pick class representatives."

A whirlwind of commotion erupted as everyone started talking over one another, but Izuku wasn’t really registering any of it. His mind kept circling back to that girl- the butterfly clip in her hair, her red, red shoes. Quirkless...

"Let’s hold an election!" Iida snapped, pulling Izuku out of his thoughts and back to reality.

"Wouldn't everyone just vote for themselves, kero?" Tsuyu asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah! Not necessarily!" Izuku chimed in, then shrunk a little as all eyes turned toward him. "I-I just meant that we’ve known each other for a week now. S-some leaders have probably shown through!"

"Yes!" Iida said, chopping his hand down with enthusiasm. "Let’s put it to a vote!"

Izuku thought about it for a moment before writing down Yaoyorozu’s name. She’s really smart and a good leader , he reasoned, trying hard to push the image of the little girl’s missing front tooth out of his mind.

He was jolted from his thoughts by Aizawa-Sensei’s dry voice calling out, "... Midoriya,” what? “and your Vice President is Yaoyorozu." What?

Confused, Izuku looked at the board where the votes were tallied. He saw that he had six votes under his name. WHAT?! Six votes? That’s more than a quarter of the class! How could they- how could anyone- vote for him?

"How the FUCK," Bakugo’s voice suddenly boomed, startling Izuku out of his spiraling thoughts, "Did someone vote for the creepy shadow puppet over me?!"

The morning passed in a blur, and before Izuku could blink, Yaoyorozu was at his side.

“Sensei said we need to meet the other class representatives for lunch, remember?”

They made their way to one of the larger student lounges just off the cafeteria, where a circular table stood ready for meetings like this.

Izuku glanced around the circle.

Too many eyes averted. Too many fingers tapping knees or twirling pens.

The silence wasn’t just awkward- it was expectant . Heavy. Coiled.
It settled into his chest like static.

Someone had to go first.

So he cleared his throat.

“Midoriya Izuku. He/him. Hero Class A President. I want to be a hero- one who never gives up.”
He smiled as wide as he could.

Momo Yaoyorozu nodded gracefully.
“Yaoyorozu Momo, she/her. Vice President of Class A. My dream is simply to be a hero.”

Next was a slender student with long orange hair and teal eyes. She gave a confident nod, fists resting casually.

“Kendo Itsuka, she/her. Class 1-B President. I want to save people.”

Then a slightly chubby student with silver hair cracked his knuckles with a grin.

“Shoda Nirengeki, he/him. My dream? To be a hero, no question.”

“Toyomitsu Madelyn, she/her. Class C President. I hope to become a surgeon someday.”
She wore the male uniform, her brown hair streaked in two tones.

A blue-haired girl yawned slightly, rubbing her eyes with the air of someone already over this whole waking life.

“Hansen Elise, she/her. Class D President. I’m aiming to be a therapist.”

Izuku blinked at that.

A therapist.
He wondered if that girl would ever talk to one.
He shook his head. Now’s not the time.

A student with short black hair and cool grey eyes twirled a pen thoughtfully.

“Sashiburi Inku, they/them. Class E President. I want to open a stationery shop.”

Hurricane- ahem - Hatsume practically bounced in place, eyes alight with chaotic glee.

“Hatsume Mei, she/her. Support Classes F, G, and H sole rep! My dream’s to be CEO of Hatsume Industries!”

The business reps followed in quiet succession, each with a different take on ambition.

The first had sleek, dark chestnut hair and almond eyes, not a strand out of place.

“Takahashi Renji, they/them. Business Course I President. I want to preserve history and culture- like saving old games from corruption, but for the real world.”
A small, knowing smile flickered.
“Think of it as restoring save files for humanity’s story.”

Next: an asymmetrical bob of black and violet framed a sharp pair of steel-grey eyes.

“Hoshino Rina, she/her. Business Course J President. I want to run the business side of a hero agency- because someone has to keep things actually organized around here.”
She gave a polite, wry smile.
“I’m pretty good with faces. Names? Less so. Don’t take it personally.”

Then came a quiet girl with sleek dark bangs and a calm gaze.

“Tanaka Miyu, she/her. Business Course K President. I plan to start a quirk analytics firm- where data is clear, and chaos is controlled.”
She offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

Dreams laid bare, intentions tucked just beneath the surface- the meeting had begun.

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, words tumbling out faster than he meant.

“Ah, who would like to take notes? I mean, I probably could, but then someone else would need to focus on what we’re actually doing, and I’m fine with that too... but if someone wanted to take notes, they totally could... but if they want to- ”

Thunk.

A crumpled wad of paper bounced off his head.

“Midoriya,” a calm voice offered, “I can take notes.”

All eyes turned to the quiet figure twirling a pen between their fingers.

Izuku blinked, startled but relieved.
“Ah- thanks, Inku. That would be really helpful.”

Hatsume exploded up from her seat, eyes sparkling madly, voice cracking through the room like a thunderclap:

“OKAY, okay! First things first- my babies- that is, my inventions- they need homes! I want to set up a hero gadget adoption program! So my beautiful chaos babies don’t just collect dust- they do hero work! You want a grappling hook? A mini-drone? A personal weather alarm? I’ve got you covered!”

Everyone blinked- a mix of awe and mild terror at the sheer force of her pitch.

Momo nodded approvingly, while Inku quietly jotted it all down, eyes wide but focused.

Izuku grinned, heart lifting a little.
Maybe I won’t completely ruin this.

Inku’s voice slipped in smoothly, thoughtful yet steady- a gentle contrast to Hatsume’s whirlwind.

“We could work on a communication app... designed to help students across all courses connect- share tutoring help, swap quirk tips, or even, um, find new homes for inventions- ”
A quick glance at Hatsume.
“- and provide a network for support. Like a digital meeting place for everything the council might need to organize.”

Their fingers tapped lightly on the pen. Eyes met Miyu’s briefly- she gave a slight approving nod- and then Mei’s, who bounced excitedly at the mention of her gadgets.

Izuku’s chest swelled at how this was coming together- a council not just about rules, but real , helpful connections.

“Wow, Inku, that sounds amazing. Like... our own hero network.”

The room hummed with possibility- every idea a spark waiting to ignite.

Izuku stood at attention. Heroics needed his full focus. There was no time to linger on chat apps or butterfly clips. The students who had been in gym uniforms the previous week seemed to mostly have approved costumes now. Mostly, Hagakure was still standing in her Gym Uniform. They must be having trouble designing something for her quirk.

All Might stood beaming like a lighthouse made of protein powder and hope.

“Young heroes!” All Might's voice boomed across the training field, carried on a wind that Izuku swore hadn’t existed a second ago. “Today, we begin not with flashy moves or devastating attacks- but with something far more important! ”

There was a pause. A moment of theatrical tension.

“We begin with… how to STAND!”

A beat. A few students blinked. Kaminari actually tilted his head. “That seems anti-climatic given the battle trials from last week” he muttered. 

Izuku knew exactly what he meant. Stance forms the foundation of every technique. It was the principle of all martial arts- and All Might was about to make it sound like a Broadway show.

All Might dropped into a deep, balanced stance. His back foot anchored, front leg bent, arms raised in a tight but relaxed guard. For all his size, he looked weightless. Ready to leap in any direction.

“Combat begins long before the first punch,” he declared. “You must root yourself like a tree! But remain light on your feet like a rabbit! The tree-rabbit stance !”

Izuku’s brain hiccupped. Tree... rabbit...? A flash of Mirko from last week’s Combat Applications class jolted through his mind. Get up. Stand again. Keep standing.

All Might straightened, then strode among the students with surprisingly quiet steps for a man built like a semi-truck. His loud actions acting like an anchor for the spiraling class.

“Feet shoulder-width apart! Hands up! Keep your dominant foot just behind the other! You must be ready to move in any direction, at any time! Villains don’t announce their attacks politely, after all!”

He punctuated that with a wink and a finger gun. Mina actually giggled.

Izuku swallowed hard and shifted his weight accordingly, mimicking the posture as precisely as he could. Balance. Breath. Focus.

All Might clapped once- loud as a thunderclap.

“Now- let’s learn to block! ”

He gestured for Iida to approach, and the taller boy did so with the solemnity of a knight being called to spar. All Might held up a palm.

“A block is not just stopping a hit,” he said, slowly guiding Iida’s arm into motion. “It’s redirecting energy. It’s telling the enemy, 'Not today, villain!' And you say it with your body.”

He demonstrated: palm parry, forearm redirection, elbow catch with hip twist. Smooth, precise, unnecessarily dramatic.”

“This,” he declared after a particularly dramatic maneuver, “is the Wrist of Redemption!”

Mina whispered, “He’s making these up.”

“Absolutely,” said Aoyama. “And I adore it.”

Then came the stance duels. Students paired up. The goal? Stay in your stance while your partner tried to unbalance you with gentle pressure. Izuku got paired with Kirishima.

“Ready? And- BEGIN!”

Izuku braced. Kirishima pushed forward with a grin. Izuku bent his knees, adjusted his footing, and-

“Midoriya!” All Might’s voice rang out. “Excellent grounding! Keep your hips low and eyes forward! Never let your stance crumble, even when your opponent looks like a brick wall with teeth! ”

Izuku flushed with pride and surprise.

The lesson continued. Students shifted, blocked, stumbled, laughed. All Might moved among them like a whirlwind of praise and polish, correcting posture with a gentle touch, tossing metaphors like confetti.

“A stance is a promise! ” he shouted as the sun dipped low. “It says, ‘I will not yield!’ And that, my students, is the heart of every hero.”

Izuku wrote half of it down in his mental notebook and the rest straight onto his soul.

Chapter Text

Wednesday morning the gates weren’t empty- no, the group was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Izuku and Ochako were swallowed whole by a churning sea of reporters, their voices a relentless tide crashing against fragile nerves.
Cameras flashed like lightning storms; mics thrust forward like probing fingers, invading personal space without apology. Reporters jabbed questions, rapid-fire and hungry:

"Are you in the hero course?"
"Is it true Mirko was a guest teacher last week?"
And the golden question, glittering like a prize in the chaos:
"What’s it like having the Symbol of Peace himself as your heroics instructor?"

The news had dropped just last night- a wildfire sparked by a leaked fragment of his employment contract. All Might wasn’t just a guest lecturer; he was shaping all five heroics classes. The vultures circled, desperate to tear that story wide open first.

For Izuku, it was a blur- flashing cameras, shouting voices, adrenaline and nerves tangling in his mouth. This wasn’t school anymore. This was a battlefield of spotlight and scrutiny, and the first-years were its newest prey.

His eyes darted, panic rising as mics shoved toward another student, Kaminari. Gritting his teeth, he forced out a shaky but clear voice:
"We’re first years. You’re not approved to interview us without a guardian present."

He wasn’t sure if it was exactly right, but it sounded official.
The reporters blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Some lowered their mics. Probably realizing the legal minefield ahead. Cameras kept rolling but the faces were likely blurred - it was standard protocol for minors.

Izuku swallowed hard, heart pounding. So this is what being president feels like, he thought, a spark of resolve igniting beneath the fear.

He managed to get the three of them - him Ochako and Kaminari - through the gate. Aizawa-sensei is there glaring at the reporters, “All Might only teaches in the afternoons. Go away” he says as the UA Barrier slams down preventing them from accosting the students who’ve made it through.

The media was still hounding the gates when lunch came around. Izuku caught his now-customary roll from Dark Shadow with a grin, but the bitter tang of the media storm lingered. All this frenzy over All Might- and not a single mention of the missing Quirkless girl. The world didn’t care about the invisible. He had to stop dwelling on it. There was nothing he could do except watch for her in crowds. So, he forced his attention back to lunch.

Dark Shadow’s cackling cut through the tension. “ Lettuce romaine calm, they carrot touch us here .” The pun was painfully perfect, a twisted joke in the eye of the storm.

Then- alarms. Blaring. Piercing. The world fractured.

Around him, panic exploded. “That’s the intruder alarm!” a third-year shouted, disbelief thick in their voice. “ I’ve never heard it ring for real before!”

Screams shredded the air. Hagakure was shoved, disappearing into the chaotic crush. Someone’s going to get hurt!

Bodies pressed in all directions, suffocating. His leg almost gives out under him as pain blooms - someone stepped on his ankle in their panic. His ankle throbbed- a steady, dull ache beneath the roar of his racing thoughts. He shifted weight, trying not to limp, focusing instead on the chaos before him.

It’s nothing, he told himself. I have to keep calm

“Dark Shadow!” His voice cracked. “What’s outside?”

She loomed beside the window, eyes wide. “The press! ” she shouted. “ They broke the gate! ”

His eyes darted frantically. Ochako was out of reach, swallowed by the crowd. Desperation clawed at his chest. 

"Ochako!" he called, voice raw and urgent. “Start using your quirk- calm them down!”

She grimly nodded, weaving through the chaos, hands slapping shoulders, easing panic like a soothing balm.

Then, “Kirishima!” Izuku barked, spotting the hulking silhouette. “Protect Hagakure! They can’t see her!”

Kirishima snapped into action, muscles coiling like steel cables, diving into the frantic crush to shield the invisible girl. I need a way to be heard, THERE!

“Momo!” he called out desperately but her ears were drowned by screams.

“Dark Shadow! Ask Momo to make a megaphone. Now!”

Seconds stretched like eternity. Please have that formula memorized. He pleaded. Then Dark Shadow returned, speaker in hand.

Izuku thrust it at Shinso. “Use Verbal Seal - shout ‘QUIET!’ Then explain it’s just the press. Your seal will mute me too, so you’ve got to handle the whole thing.”

Shinso’s eyes flickered, the weight of command settling in. Then, “Quiet!” he commanded. The room was filled with silence as both bodies and voices followed the command.

Izuku’s throat burned, his voice fading, and so too was the pain in his ankle. 

The storm demanded order.

“Make your way out in an orderly fashion. Do not panic. It is just the press” Shinso’s deadpan voice was blasted through the megaphone. 

Nothing too exciting happened at school after that.
They had their double dose of Aizawa-sensei: Hero Law and Ethics followed by Physical Conditioning, with Snipe-sensei’s Strategy lecture sandwiched in between like the blandest, driest training sandwich known to man.
No, the real drama didn’t hit until the next day.

Snipe-Sensei’s Team Tactics. With Class 1-B.

It started innocently enough- trust exercises, group bonding nonsense. Izuku was with Monoma, a 1-B girl he recognized from the building seminar, Kendo, she introduced firmly, Hagakure, and Sero.

First up: the classic trust fall. Kendo caught him easily with her enlarged hands. He, in turn, caught Hagakure.

Then came the no-verbal-commands maze. Everyone blindfolded except for the designated leader- him. He flailed his way through, gently nudging limbs and leading his group with increasing stress.

The six-legged race was worse. Tied together, relying only on body language. Monoma started muttering under his breath after the third stumble, clearly annoyed by Hagakure’s invisibility throwing off his timing.

But it was during the Compliment Web that everything quietly combusted.

They stood in a circle, tossing a ball of string from person to person. Give a compliment, pass it on, build a web. Simple.

Izuku tossed the yarn to Monoma with a soft, “I admire your adaptability.”
He meant it. Truly.

Monoma caught it- and snapped .
“Well I admire your ability to steal the spotlight!”

The string stretched taut between them, vibrating with more than just tension.

Izuku blinked. The compliment hung dead in the air, its warmth hollowed out. His fingers closed around the yarn like a lifeline, but it felt cold now.
Across the circle, Hagakure’s bubbly voice faltered. Sero’s usual grin tightened. The rhythm cracked. The web wasn’t weaving- it was tearing.

Kendo stepped in. “Monoma, that’s- ”
But Izuku cut her off with a brittle, practiced smile. 

You’ve got a way of lighting up the room,” he said, voice steady, “without ever needing a spotlight.”  He lobbed the ball to Hagakure.

She caught it, hesitated, then passed it gently to Sero with a murmur too soft to catch.

The game limped on.

And then- Monoma again.
“I admire how you have the eye of All Might while we only get Class 1-A’s leftovers.”

The silence this time was suffocating.

Izuku froze.
Not because of the insult. Not really.
But because all he could see was that little quirkless girl again. The one no one mentioned.
The one he couldn’t save.

Am I just a failure with a good view?
Am I only special because someone famous looked at me?
Am I even a hero?

He wanted to disappear. But invisibility was already taken.

Heroics ended - not with a bang but a whimper. 

He was emotionally drained and not ready at all for therapy, but it was time for therapy anyway. 

Hound Dog’s office is quiet. Not the soothing kind. The kind where every clock tick feels like a countdown to something .

Izuku’s hunched in the chair again. He had put on his emotional comfort hoodie after heroics and his fingers were worrying  the hem. He gives a tiny, diplomatic nod as Hound Dog greets him with the usual growl.

“How’s the week been, pup?”

“...It’s been an okay week.”

Deadpan. Straight-faced. Like he wasn’t just publicly flayed via a string game by his friend. 

Hound dog tilts his head. “Okay like... nap okay? Or okay like you’re clenching your teeth so hard your molars are plotting an escape?”

Izuku manages a shrug. “The press were a bit much. But... that’s just part of the job, right?”

Mm. Sure. Izuku thinks to himself, And sharks are just part of the ocean, but you don’t have to swim with them on your way to math class.

“And there’s... y’know.” He gestures vaguely. “A missing quirkless girl. No one’s talking about her. Feels wrong.”

Hound Dog softens a little. “That’s not nothing, pup.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But it’s not something I can fix.”

And there it is. The guilt creeping in like fog under a door. Izuku’s trying to ration his pain like it’s selfish to have too much. He’s surviving by minimizing it- shrinking his hurt until it fits in his pocket like a paper cut.

But today, he’s not ready to talk about the yarn. Or the bitterness in Monoma’s voice. Or how it twisted in his chest like something shameful and familiar.

So instead, he talks about the press. And the girl no one’s looking for. And says “okay” like it’s a bandage, not a lie.

Hound Dog doesn’t push. Not yet. He just jots a note and says:

“You don’t have to be ‘okay’ for me to see you, Izuku.”

Because that’s the real hurt, isn’t it? Not Monoma’s words. Not the spotlight.
It’s the fear that if he isn’t holding it together , no one will see him.

Chapter Text

It was Saturday before he knew it. His class had all turned in their field trip permission slips, and he’d only had one near-catastrophe- neatly side-stepped with a simple, “Ah! Iida, UA uses a lot of different bus designs! Since we don’t know which one is being used, it’s better to just line everyone up rather then make a detailed plan!”
Yayorozu nodded briskly in the background, already forming the line.

Once the bus started rolling, a voice cut through the awkward silence.

“Shinso, I’m a very blunt person,” Tsu said. “What’s your quirk- kero?” She tilted her head. “I know you used it somehow in the assessment test last week, but then you stopped Wednesday’s panic with a single word.”

Shinso didn’t answer at first. The hum of the engine filled the space where words should have gone. He stared out the window, then turned- slow and deliberate, like he was deciding whether to speak or let the silence keep guarding him.

“I’ve got two,” he said at last. “Inherited one, like most people. That’s the one I used in the assessment.”

A few students shifted at that. Confused, maybe. Curious why using others’ quirks wasn’t considered cheating.

“But the other one- ” his fingers curled in his lap. “It’s new. Emergent. I got my Spark at the entrance exam.”

He glanced at Tsuyu. “It’s called Verbal Seal ,” he said, voice soft but firm. “When I tell someone to stop, they stop. If I say it with enough intent, I can even shut down quirks- like Sensei does. It wears off, but... it hurts. Me .”

A pause, quiet and weighted.

“It’s not something I use lightly.”

The air in the bus stretched tight, like it knew what was coming before they did.

“I’m one of those kids who got both, I guess,” he said softly. “A quirk... and a Spark.”

They simmered in silence the rest of the ride to the USJ- no one quite sure how to unpack the weight of it all. Until a brisk, clipped voice shattered the quiet.
“We’re here.” Aizawa-sensei’s tone was flat, like announcing the weather.

The class spilled from the bus, eyes catching on a sprawling geodesic dome of steel and glass rising before them.
“Welcome to the Unforeseen Simulations Joint,” Aizawa deadpanned as the enormous doors parted to reveal Thirteen-Sensei, beckoning them inside.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed, his steps quickening toward Thirteen for a private word. Izuku caught the slight shake of Aizawa’s head, the trembling of three fingers held up by Thirteen, and the deep, weary sigh that followed. Something was off.

“All right!” Thirteen-Sensei called out, voice bright but edged with something unreadable. “I’ve got a thing or two... or three... or maybe more to say before we get started today! You’ve had Battle Trials with All Might, risk assessment with Nezu, quirk and physical training with Aizawa, group work with Snipe, and even some Quirkless tag with me and my guests!”

Izuku shivered at the memory of quirkless tag- the hunted were always the quirkless. It felt like middle school all over again.

“But now, it’s time to learn something essential for your hero career!” The voice cracked, snapping Izuku back. “Your quirks are dangerous tools- you’ve been told that since day one,” their helmet turned, almost like they were staring right at Bakugo. “But they can also be the tools to save lives.”

Something behind Thirteen caught Izuku’s eye- a swirl of color, shifting and alive. He squinted. What was that?

“Sensei!” Iida’s hand shot up, cutting through the speech like a knife.

“Ah, yes?” Thirteen answered, turning.

“What is that?!” Iida pointed at the swirl, now peeling open like a wound. Bodies spilled out- shadows crawling from nightmares- ragged, raw, faces twisted with desperation and malice.

“Stand back!” Aizawa barked instantly. “Those are villains!”

Sensei glanced back at them, voice steady but tense. “Kaminari, get through to the main building and tell them what’s happening. Thirteen- protect the students. Everyone else, evacuate.”

With a swift motion, Aizawa pulled his capture weapon off his neck.

“Sensei! There are too many of them!” Izuku’s voice cracked, panic biting.

“No hero is a one-trick pony, kid,” came the grim reply.

And with that, Aizawa launched himself into the chaos.

The swirl of purple mist surged toward them next.

Izuku barely had time to register it before chaos exploded-
Iida shouting, Thirteen turning- I should’ve warned them!
Classmates vanished into the fog.
My fault, my fault, please be safe, please be okay- 

Then he was falling .
When did I even get up?
The frigid impact tore the breath from his lungs.

Villains surrounded him almost instantly- quirks adapted for the deep. Sleek. Fast. Hungry. They moved like sharks that had caught a whiff of blood.

One of them was a shark- gills flared, jaws wide, swimming straight for him.

Will 2% be enough?
The thought hit like lightning. If I push too hard, I’ll be useless... but if I don’t hit hard enough, I’ll be eaten!
Panic crackled in his bones, a live wire sparking both ends.

Before he could decide, something wrapped around his torso and yanked him up- air- precious, glorious air - rushed into his lungs.

Not a rope! his mind caught up. That’s Tsu’s tongue!

She deposited him gently on the deck of a half-submerged ship, where Shinso was already slumped, panting beside him.

Izuku’s limbs were lead. His vision swam. But Shinso was already moving- rummaging through a belt pouch, pulling out two sets of compact orange earplugs.

He tossed one to Tsu and shoved the other into Izuku’s hand.

“Put them in,” Shinso said tightly.

Izuku blinked. “Why- ?”

“Put them in.”

That voice, firm , cut through the fog like a lifeline.

He obeyed. Fumbling. Plugging. Muffled silence fell over the world like a curtain of static.

Shinso moved to the edge of the deck, eyes locked on the water. Voice rising.

“That’s enough.”

His hand twitched. Then clenched. Blood dripped from his nose.

“That’s enough!” he barked again, just loud enough to crack through the muffling.

The water stilled. The villains froze mid-stroke- puppets with their strings cut. One spasmed. Another clawed at their chest, eyes wide with sudden fear.

Izuku stared. The chaos had turned to eerie silence.

Then Shinso- Hitoshi- collapsed- hard. Like a puppet himself, all strings severed.

Tsu didn’t hesitate. She grabbed one boy in each arm- one panting, one limp- and leapt . They sailed like a stone skipping across the water, landing hard in the scrubby dirt just shy of the shoreline.

Izuku scrambled upright, bruised but functional. Tsu groaned beside him, still curled protectively around Shinso’s unconscious form.

No response. Just shallow breathing. Sweat streamed down Shinso’s face.

“I wasn’t fast enough,” Izuku whispered. “I didn’t help.”

His fingers curled into the dirt. Useless.

He stopped them. She got us out.
I just… watched.

But there wasn’t time to unravel.

“I need to do something to help,” he murmured. Then louder: “Let’s go around the center. M-maybe we can pick off some of the weaker villains, loop to the entrance. Relieve the load for Sensei.”

Tsu met his eyes. “If you’re sure- kero.”

He nodded. Then, without another word, hoisted Shinso onto his back.

They moved through the thinning field slowly, like shadows. Tossing ambushers into the lake. Avoiding clusters too large to handle.

Then- it happened.

A voice- dry and scratchy- cut across the stillness like a blade.

“By the way, Eraserhead… I am not the final boss.”

Izuku turned, confusion blooming into terror.

A flash- his Sensei’s elbow- half disintegrated, arm limp.
Izuku's eyes widened.
Then- “He is. Nomu, attack.”

There was no time to blink.

Sensei was gone.

No, there - six feet back- skull smashed into concrete. Blood. Cracks spiderwebbing from the point of impact.

Izuku shook. The purple mist reappeared, forming beside the villain wrapped in dismembered hands.

“I am sorry, Tomura,” said the mist-man, calm. Unfeeling. “I disabled Thirteen, but one of the students escaped.”

“Damn you, Kurogiri,” snarled the scratchy voice. “If you weren’t our warp gate, I’d dust you right now .”

Then he grinned. Too wide. Too human to be real.

“I guess this is game over. All Might’s not here.”

Then his tone turned gleeful.

“But first- let’s wound his pride.”

Izuku hadn’t realized he’d stopped moving. Tsu was fifteen feet ahead. Shinso on his back like a weight he refused to drop.

Then- 

A blur.

Outstretched hand, reaching for Tsu.

I have to drop Shinso.

I’m not going to make it.

His arm cocked back. Pulled power like ripping muscle from bone.

Too slow. Too slow- 

Fingers brushed her cheek.

The green electricity fizzled out.
Static. Gone.
What?

“You’re too cool,” the villain- Tomura drawled.

Izuku stumbled.
His quirk wasn’t the only one.
Everywhere around him-
No sparks. No flickers. 

 “Eraserhead. Nomu- ”

Only mutant quirks stirred.

Tomura turned lazily.

“Kill him.”

Sensei slammed again.

The sickening sound of bones cracking echoed.ut.

Suddenly, his Quirk flared back to life,

“ SMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAASSSSHHHHH !”

The air split. 

Time shattered. 

Everything blurred.

And the monster- Nomu - was suddenly in front of him, intercepting the blow meant for the hand villain like it was nothing more than a breeze.

Like Izuku was nothing more than a toddler.

“He has shock absorption,” Tomura said in a flat, almost bored tone from behind the bird villain. - why does that tone make everything worse? “And super healing. We made him just to kill the symbol of peace.”

Then he smirked, like a kid with a new toy. “Nomu,” he said with his cold, scratchy voice, “play with the ‘hero’”

Pain

Nothing but pain.

Flying, falling, smashing, pain.

But there in the corner he saw Tsu dragging Shinso and Sensei to safety. Even as he felt bones snap he knew he had bought them just that tiny bit more time.

Then as the Nomu was going for round two he heard it - a door slamming open. Suddenly he was at the top of the stairs - with Tsu, with Shinso, with Sensei, with -

All Might's voice boomed out “I am here” 

And he was not smiling. 

Izuku barely was able to rasp out “Shock absorption, and healing, bird thing” before darkness took him.

Chapter Text

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG RECIEVED - 6:41 PM

I told a quirkless kid he could be a hero
and he immediately YEETED HIMSELF INTO SEWAGE TO SAVE SOMEONE
HELP

Naomasa just stares at the block of text for a solid five minutes while waiting for the new pot to brew in the breakroom.
He’s already been on the clock for twelve hours. He needs more caffeine to deal with Yagi’s brand of stupid.

After downing half the pot in one go, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Why the hell didn’t this idiot call someone with two functioning brain cells for help? Like a frog. A frog could have avoided this.

He starts texting back.

He helps his idiot build a plan to prevent a case of suicide-by-heroism. Downs the rest of the pot. Sighs deeply.
Yagi...

He was on his rare day off when Yagi texted him, begging him to check on the suicidal kid- Izuku - because he was stuck in Tokyo.

So, being a good dad-friend, Naomasa gathers some beginner training scenarios- the kind he usually gives new interns- and gets ready to meet the kid.

Wait.
Which beach did Yagi say the kid was cleaning?

They never actually nailed that part down. There were at least three good beaches nearby that’d be fine for cardio and light community service...

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG SENT - 6:55 AM

Where am I meeting the kid?

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG RECIEVED - 6:56 AM

Shared a location

What the fuck, Yagi.
Naomasa pinches the bridge of his nose as he stares out at Dagobah Beach.

I said pick up trash and do light cardio at the beach- not give the kid a full-blown community service sentence like he got off the hook from juvie and needs a parole officer on speed dial.
Dammit, the kid could break his back, and Yagi only checks in once a week!

He sighs.
It’s too late now. If they change the training setup, the kid’ll take it the wrong way and think he’s being punished.
As if cleaning a landfill is a reward and taking a break is a prison sentence.

He’ll just have to double down on safety gear, schedule rest days, and make sure the kid has more than one goddamn pair of gloves.

Gods.
He’s going to have to check in whenever he can to make sure this kid doesn’t become a casualty of trash, isn’t he?

As soon as he sends the kid home, Naomasa goes shopping for safety equipment.
He’ll bring it in the morning. And lecture him. Definitely lecture him.

What was it Yagi said? The kid drowned in sewage to save a possum? Something like that?
Yeah. He’s going to need to talk to this kid about tetanus and common sense .

Oh. My. God.

Yagi is an idiot of the highest order .

How did this man ever keep One For All a secret when he’s texting me about it like he’s ordering a sandwich?
"Turkey or salami? Also, I may have just adopted a quirkless deathwish. Thoughts?"

Naomasa downs another pot of coffee. This has officially become his Yagi Panic™ Ritual.

I just need to explain to a grown-ass man-child how to act like a functional adult and pray the kid is smart enough to say no.

…

Goddammit. The kid’s going to say yes, isn’t he?

He really should have expected the next flurry of texts. 

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG RECEIVED - 9:41 PM

Naomasa!! Quick question!!
How do I run a hero class??
I was thinking- what if I set up a 2v2 battle around a bomb?? Heroes try to stop villains from blowing it up!! Symbolic! Explosive!! Very educational!!!

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG SENT - 9:45 PM

Ok.
Breathe.
Couple of things:
Please don’t use a real bomb.
Let the "villains" go in first to set up. Give them time to prep the scenario. Then swap in the "heroes."
The bomb should be fake, but the consequences of screwing up should feel real.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG RECEIVED - 9:50 PM

YES. Got it. Fake bomb. Real stress.
Love it.
Do I let them pick their own teams?? Or assign them?? Team-building lesson!!

He paused to grab another coffee before responding.

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG SENT - 10:00 PM

In the field, you don’t always get to choose your backup.
You might know the heroes patrolling your area, but crime doesn’t exactly RSVP.
Randomize it. See how they adapt.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG RECEIVED - 10:01 PM

You’re so good at this, why am I the teacher??

He felt the migraine beginning to settle just behind his eyes. Massaged his temples. Counted to five.

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG SENT - 10:10 PM

Because you’re a symbol. I’m just the guy who reads paperwork and reminds you not to get arrested.
One more thing:
If a team purposely destroys the bomb instead of disarming it?
That’s a fail.
Real world? That gets civilians killed. There should be consequences.
Debrief hard. Ask why they made that choice. Make sure they learn from it.

He filed some paperwork for a bit before getting to the next message.

PunchFirstThinkLater
MSG RECIEVED - 10:12 PM

Consequence lesson... Got it.
Disarm, don’t detonate.
I’m gonna make them heroes, Nao.

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG SENT - 10:32 PM

You’ll get them there.
Just don’t start with fireworks. Start with foundation.
Then you can blow their minds.
...Maybe make some note cards so you don’t forget anything.

There. Simple.
"Villains" go in, set the room, "heroes" follow, solve the problem.
No clash. No conflict. Nice, contained thought exercise- with a splash of action.

God damnit, he thought, rubbing his forehead.
Of course Yagi would misunderstand and send all the kids in at the exact same time.

DetectiveImpulseControl
MSG SENT - 4:22 PM

Look, just - next week?
Work on stances with them.
And maybe blocks.
Don’t pit the students against each other again until Nezu says its ok

That was all he could really provide for now.

He had back-to-back interviews lined up for the Echo Chamber Case.
Then there was that lead on Nullbyte .
He still needed to interview Red Jackal , in case any of the victims were still alive.
And the Shatterpoint Case wasn’t going to investigate itself...

Hopefully Yagi would consult Nezu if he had any more questions.

He already had a full-time job.
He didn’t need to be a full-time dad, too.

After the USJ incident, Naomasa finally admits it:

He’s spiritually adopted this green menace.

“Please,” he begs, voice cracking, “Just come back to the precinct with me. You’re so smart. Be a detective. Help reform society.”

He’s nearly crying as he sits next to the unconscious teen.

“I know you want to be a hero... but I want you to live to be an adult. Please... Izuku.”

But he knows.

When the kid wakes up, he’ll make the offer...

And the kid will say no.

Because the kid wants to be a hero.
Even with therapy.
Even with progress.

It won’t be enough.

Naomasa knows his son.
Giving up heroism would destroy him.

So he pinches the bridge of his nose.

And sighs.

Yep.

He’s not just a dad-friend anymore. He’s a dad.

Chapter Text

Consciousness dripped in slow, fractured fragments-
Huh?
A flicker.
What’s going on?
A pulse.
Where am I?
The shards twisted, coalescing-
Tsu! Hitoshi! Sensei!
Are they all right?
Where is All Might?
The bird villain?
Toumra?
Did anyone get hurt?
But then-
BEEP BEEP BEEP-
A frantic, piercing alarm sliced through the spiraling fog.
Is there a bomb?
Where’s the bomb?
Dread flared and raced-
I have to make sure everyone is safe! I can’t be useless!
And then-
Voices-
“He’s crashing!”
Who?
Darkness swallowed him whole once more.

Light clawed at the edges of his vision.

Izuku blinked, once, then again, shapes swimming into focus behind a curtain of fog. The ceiling above him was white- too white- like a hospital or a dream he didn’t want to be having.

Beep. ...Beep.

The rhythm crept into his bones, steady and slow, like a metronome counting down something he couldn't name.

A chair creaked.

In the corner, a figure slouched- Detective Naosoma, hat tugged low, stubble catching the fluorescent light. His chin dipped toward his chest, breath shallow but not quite sleeping. A paper cup sat forgotten in one hand, fingers curled loosely around it.

Izuku shifted, wincing at the dull pull in his side. Something warm and trembling brushed his arm.

His mother. Curled beside him, eyes red, lashes wet. Her hand rested on his like a leaf on water- barely there, but grounding him all the same.

The door hissed open.

Yagi stepped in, too tall for the frame, carrying a bottle of water and a cup of coffee that steamed faintly in the cold air.

“I got you a cup, Nao,” he murmured, voice low enough not to wake anyone- except Izuku, who was already far too awake .

“Thanks, Yagi,” the detective grunted, twisting to take it- and froze.

“Izuku.”
Then louder, disbelief cracking through his voice like thunder.
“Kid. You’re awake! ”

His throat burned when he tried to speak. He swallowed. Tried again.

Nothing.

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Tsukauchi said, suddenly by his side, coffee abandoned. “You scared the absolute hell out of us, kid.”

Izuku’s gaze darted from face to face. His mother’s tears, the dark circles under Naosoma’s eyes, the set of Yagi’s jaw- tight, but not broken.

“Is everyone... okay?” His voice rasped like torn paper.

His mom squeezed his hand, trembling.

“We’re here. You’re safe now.”

Yagi crouched beside the bed, placing the coffee down with almost reverent care.

“There’s a lot to say. But not now. Right now, you rest. You’ve been through more than most do in a lifetime.”

Naosoma chuckled- dry, frayed at the edges.

“You won’t like it, but trust me. Rest isn’t weakness. It’s survival.”

The hum of machines filled the quiet that followed, underscored by the occasional footstep beyond the door, the breath of a world still turning.

Izuku let his eyes close.

But peace didn’t hold.

Minutes blurred. His fingers twitched. His chest rose too quickly, then fell. A tremor ran through him, chased by something raw and restless.

“I can’t just lie here...” he whispered, voice breaking on the edges.

Yagi met his gaze evenly. “Izuku, you’ve crashed twice. Hard. With everything the med team’s thrown at you, you’re still not bouncing back. Not like they expected.”

Tsukauchi ran a hand through his hair.

“Even quirks can’t rush the soul, kid. Sometimes, you’ve gotta let the rest of you catch up.”

His mother leaned forward, brushing his bangs from his forehead. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were steel.

“We just want you to stay. Whole. ”

The shame struck low and deep.

“I was useless...” The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I can’t be useless.”

Yagi’s voice sharpened- just slightly.

“You weren’t. You weren’t even close. What you did likely saved your classmates. And your teacher.”

He paused, the weight of it settling between them.

“Even the strongest fall. What matters is standing back up- well. Not fast.”

Tsukauchi smirked, faint but real.

“You’ve always been a pain in the ass, Midoriya. Be a smart one, for once.”

Izuku let his head fall back, breath shaky. Beneath the guilt, beneath the ache, something stirred- quiet, but steady.

I saved Sensei...
I’m not... worthless.

A fragile ember glowed beneath the ash.

“I... can I- ”

The words caught, too heavy.
But he tried again.

“Can I see Hound Dog early this week?”

Yagi’s mouth curled into a soft smile.

“I’ll give him a call.”

The room hummed with a low kind of quiet- the kind that slipped under the skin. No beeping monitors, no overhead lights. Just the bedside lamp, warm and soft, casting long shadows against the pale walls.

The heart monitor was still beeping steadily. 

Izuku sat propped up against the pillows, blanket bunched in his fists. His grip shifted, loosened, then tightened again. Hound Dog didn’t say anything, just dragged the chair closer and settled in with a soft grunt, claws clicking once against the linoleum before stilling.

A beat passed. Maybe two. Then Izuku exhaled.

“I keep thinking about how it felt,” he said. His voice was rough, like it hadn’t been used in a while. “Not knowing what was happening. Feeling like I couldn’t do anything that mattered.”

He didn’t look at Hound Dog. Just stared at the folds of the blanket like they might unravel into answers.

Izuku’s throat worked as he swallowed.

“They said I saved people. But I don’t remember saving anyone. I remember freezing. Falling. Being swatted like a fly. Waking up here.”

The monitor increased its pace. 

His hands clenched tighter in the blanket.

“I keep thinking... maybe it just happened around me. Like I was there, but not really part of it.”

This time, Hound Dog tilted his head. A low, thoughtful rumble in his chest. Not a growl. Just... sound. Grounding.

Izuku’s voice dropped.

“I’m the one with the title. President. But the others- they moved. They did things. Me? I just- ” he broke off, then gave a breathy, humorless laugh. “I just woke up after.”

Stillness again. The kind that doesn’t demand anything.

Then Hound Dog finally spoke, voice a low growl.

“Sometimes it’s hard to see the good in ourselves.”

Izuku blinked.

The monitor slowed down to a normal pace. 

“Doesn’t mean what you did wasn’t real, pup” Hound Dog added. “Just means your brain’s still catching up.”

Izuku didn’t respond right away. He stared at the blanket a moment longer, then let his grip loosen. Not fully, but a start.

“Sometimes it feels like I borrowed something I wasn’t supposed to touch,” he whispered. “Like the Spark isn’t mine. Like it knows .”

Hound Dog made a low noise- somewhere between agreement and dismissal.

“We don’t choose sparks,” he said. “They come with emotional truths. That yours is still with you? That means something.”

Izuku looked up at that. Just briefly. Unconsciously meeting Hound Dog’s steady gaze before flickering his eyes back down.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn’t exactly peaceful either, but it held.

A breath passed. Then Izuku muttered, “I didn’t ask to feel this way.”

“No one ever does.”

Another pause.

“Can I... talk to you again later?” Izuku asked, voice smaller now, but not broken. Just tired.

Hound Dog nodded once.

Chapter Text

Morning slipped through the curtains in pale lines. Izuku didn’t need to check the clock- he’d been awake for hours. He was too rested, too restless. Sleep hadn’t stuck, not with everything still buzzing behind his ribs.

With the light came movement. First, the nurses. Then a trio of doctors. They murmured to each other in soft tones and clipped jargon, checking IVs, vitals, machines. 

Apparently, whatever had blocked his healing had cleared overnight. The specialists returned like clockwork, and this time, their quirks held. His bruises faded. His lungs stopped aching when he breathed. Even the crack in his collarbone gave a quiet, reluctant pop as it settled back into place. His body was catching up, piece by piece.

But the first real hurdle of the day came when he asked what day it was.

“Monday,” one of the nurses replied absently, tapping notes into her tablet.

Izuku blanched. His heart monitor spiked. 

“ Monday?! I’m going to be late for school! ”

This, despite the fact that he was still hooked up to a heart monitor and had exactly zero functioning limbs.

Inko sat up so fast she nearly dropped the tea she hadn’t touched. “Izuku, baby,” she said, voice trembling with emotion, “-no. You can’t- you’re still- you’re still healing, and- ”

Her throat closed. The tears came quick and hot, no matter how she tried to swallow them.

“Your heart stopped,” she whispered. “You died , Izuku. They brought you back. But now... now you need to rest. You need to be safe.”

He didn’t argue right away. Just stared at the blanket like it had betrayed him personally.

Monday.

He was already behind. He didn’t even really have a spark, One for All was barely usable. The other kids had such cool powers, so much better control. Now he was going to miss more? Until Wednesday?

That was basically a whole week. Of hero school. Of everyone else racing ahead while he sat in a hospital bed.

He was still stewing- visibly stewing- when the door creaked open and Yagi stepped inside. He took one look at the expression on Izuku’s face and sighed, like he already knew what kind of nonsense was afoot.

“What’s the emergency, young Midoriya?” he asked gently, though his thin frame still moved with that telltale tension- like he hadn’t stopped bracing since the attack.

Izuku blurted out: “I’m missing class! ” 

Yagi blinked.

Then he smiled, small, lopsided, and tired. “Ah. That.” He stepped fully into the room, letting the door hiss shut behind him. “Don’t worry. U.A. is closed for a few days. The staff is... reevaluating security procedures.”

Izuku’s heart rate dropped a bit - back to normal - as the tension drained out of him.

Yagi sat on the edge of the nearby chair and rested his elbows on his knees, gaze soft but direct.

“Everyone’s recovering in their own way. You don’t have to rush this part.”

Izuku wilted. A little.

“I just feel like I should be doing more.”

“And yet,” Yagi said dryly, “the medical professionals keep insisting you don’t.”

A beat.

Izuku huffed. “That’s... fair.”

The next hurdle came swiftly after.

They wouldn’t let him have his cellphone.

Not because it was broken- though it probably was. Not because they didn’t have it- someone had apparently salvaged it along with his poor, scorched costume. No- the reasoning was far more insidious.

“Too much stress,” the nurse explained gently- like she was delivering a fatal diagnosis. “We don’t want you getting overwhelmed by messages or media right now.”

Izuku stared at her like she had betrayed him this time.

“But- but I need to check the spark group chat! And check in how the SchoolNet is coming! And- what if Mr. Aizawa posted assignments?! What if someone Sparked at the USJ and they need support and I’m not there? What if Monoma- ”

Wait. Right. Monoma hates me right now.

His heart skipped a beat on the monitor before he refocused. 

“What if Ochako overused her emotional weightlifting and is now spiraling with the drawback? What if Shinso’s spark migraines got worse? Is he okay? He was unconscious last I saw him...”

Inko tried to soothe him with a pat on the shoulder. Yagi tried with a look that somehow said I, too, have been thwarted by modern technology.

“Please,” Izuku begged, “I swear I’ll stay calm. I’ll meditate. I’ll count my breaths. I’ll delete Twitter.”

That earned a weak chuckle out of Yagi. “That last one might actually help your blood pressure,” he murmured.

But the nurse was unmoved. “You can have limited supervised access later, but no personal device until the doctors clear it.”

Izuku sank back into the bed like gravity itself had taken a personal vendetta.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “This is a violation of my constitutional right to overanalyze.”

Yagi chuckled again, softer this time.

“Somehow,” he said, “I think we’ll survive your absence from the internet.”

Izuku wasn’t so sure. 

Not when people he cared about were hurting.

Not when he couldn’t help.

Tuesday dragged.

Izuku had already pouted at the nurses- twice- but they still wouldn’t let him have his phone. His mom had brought puzzles to keep him busy: word searches, sudoku, even a hero-themed logic book. Cute idea, but there were only so many times he could stare at cartoonified Pro Heroes before his brain gave up. And no hero news, either. Too risky, they said. In case it triggered something.

Like flipping through footage of Endeavor’s latest fight would break him in half.

He’d even opened his math book, desperate for anything to make the time move faster.

By the time the door finally slid open, he was halfway between ripping out his IVs or just screaming into a pillow.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tsukauchi-Sensei said as he stepped inside, that usual lazy smile on his face. “I hear you’ve been climbing the walls today.”

Izuku slumped back into bed, arms crossed. “Maybe.”

Tsukauchi raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out two of the ugliest ties Izuku had ever seen- one plastered with kittens, the other a repeating pattern of cartoon All Might doing finger guns.

“Thought we could get a little practice in,” the man said, like this wasn’t a long-standing, embarrassing failure.

Izuku stared. “Seriously?” He flicked the kitten one with a finger, deadpan. “I’m in recovery, not clown school.”

Tsukauchi chuckled and perched on the edge of the bed. “Humor’s good. Means you’re still fighting.” He held up the All Might tie like it was something sacred. “And come on- this one basically is the Symbol of Peace. Can’t get more heroic than that.”

Izuku sighed, but he didn’t swat it away when Tsukauchi handed it over. The fabric felt light and ridiculous in his hands, and his fingers were already tensing just from holding it. Stupid, how something this small could still feel like a mountain.

“We’ll take it slow,” Tsukauchi said, his voice gentler now- not pitying, just steady. “It’s not about the tie. It’s about your hands, your focus. Taking back a bit of control. You’ve been trying. Now let’s walk through it together.”

Izuku didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the tie- bright, dumb, heroic- before giving a quiet nod.

The room settled into silence, broken only by the soft sound of fabric rustling against his fingers. They trembled, stiff and out of sync, but they moved. He could move them. That had to count for something.

Tsukauchi stayed close, watching without interfering.

“Yeah…” Izuku muttered eventually, tongue poking at his cheek as he concentrated. “Control. That’d be nice.”

“Start there,” Tsukauchi said softly. “The rest will follow.”

And, somehow, it really did.
By the time Tsukauchi-Sensei had to head back to work, Izuku felt a quiet flicker of confidence- like maybe he could do this. Like maybe the knot in his tie wasn’t the only thing starting to come together.
It wasn’t perfect. But it wasn’t a disaster, either.
It was… nice.

Wednesday morning settled like a soft sigh over the hospital room. The sterile hum of machines became a lullaby, but Izuku’s mind was still a storm of half-formed worries and scattered thoughts.

Then- a quiet shift.
A presence, almost imperceptible, wrapped around him like a heavy, familiar blanket. Not cold or clinical, but warm, grounding, real. It pressed down gently, smoothing the ragged edges of his panic.

You are safe.

The words weren’t spoken aloud, but whispered into the air- a breath only he could feel, a soft promise woven through the silence.

Izuku’s breath slowed, the tight coil of tension unfurling inside him, slackening into calm. For the first time since the attack, the world felt less like a wild, spinning carousel and more like steady ground beneath his feet.

Though the room was empty save for the hum of the machines and the fading light, the unseen presence lingered- steady, watchful, unwavering.

The peaceful day saw his doctor finally permitting the promised supervised phone time. It was lunchtime and the messages exploded out of his phone and he scrolled back until Saturday to make sure everyone was okay.

✨We Don’t Talk About Spark Club✨

Upsie Daisy: finally some peace. gonna try not to think about today’s drama

Fumi-Nii: Dark Shadow has Vanished into the Velvet Night, But she  sleeps with Fractured Breaths alert to Lurking Threats.

Shield-Nii: bro that attack was nuts. can’t believe we made it out in one piece

Command Z: my spark’s so fried i’m just vibing with some old vids rn. anyone else?

Upsie Daisy: yeah, same. My emotional weightlifting officially out of commission for a bit. oops

Command Z: hey, anyone know what happened to zumies after I passed out?

Upsie Daisy: i think i saw him taken away in an ambulance...

Fumi-Nii: His body Lay Fractured, a tapestry of Shattered Bone

Shield-Nii: did he over-use his quirk?

Upsie Daisy: i don’t know

Command Z: he hadn’t used his quirk before i passed out... anyone have Ausi’s number? She 

Fumi-Nii: I stepped on the Frog’s Shadow last week. She’s entrusted me with her number

Shield-Nii: Man you go full poet when you are stressed

Fumi-Nii: Ah, you are right I do... Tsu said he got hit by that muscle villain with a beak

Sheild-Nii: The one meant to take down all might? Totally Manely of Zumies but... do you think he is okay?

Upsie Daisy: @Zumies please let us know you are alright!

More texts were posted in the group chat throughout the weekend with increasing worry, he scrolled passed them trying to keep his heart rate calm until he came to...

✨We Don’t Talk About Spark Club✨

Command Z: Are we sure Zumies is okay?

Shield-Nii: i mean it’s not like the staff have said anything

Upsie Daisy: does anyone know if he’s okay???

Fumi-Nii: i’m worried about my cinnamon roll

Shield-Nii: people are whispering that a kid died at USJ

Command Z: wait... is it possible they think zumies is... dead?

Upsie Daisy: NO NO NO THAT CAN’T BE

Fumi-Nii: i refuse! Zumies is not dead!

Upsie Daisy: izuku pls just drop anything so we know you’re alive

Shield-Nii: seriously, even a frog emoji would do

His heartbeat was racing, as was the machine hooked up to monitor him.

✨We Don’t Talk About Spark Club✨

Zumies: i’m no dead!!

Zumies: healing. no phone until now. sorry for the panic.

Upsie Daisy: OMG thank god!!!

Shield-Nii: bro, please take it easy!

Command Z: phew. best news of the day.

Fumi-Nii: i demand a welcome back party! oh i should let Fumi-nii know!

Fumi-Nii: The Shadows Whispered your Absence, but You were Too Bright to Stay Hidden. 

Zumies: maybe after i get some rest first. The doctor said I can go back to school tomorrow but they want the phone back now.

Izuku pouted after hitting send. Thirty minutes of supervised phone time had slipped away like sand, shrinking to a mere five. Who knew “supervised” was code for “We snatch it back the moment your heart tries to start a drum solo”?

But the weight of that invisible blanket wrapped him tight- safe, safe, safe - and the frantic flutter inside him began to still.

By evening, the doctors nodded their cautious approval: he was steady enough to go home. With one last reminder to check in with Recovery Girl twice daily and to keep the strain low, Izuku felt the gentle tether of care still holding him- soft, but unbreakable.

Chapter Text

Thursday felt surreal. After days of doing nothing in the hospital, he was suddenly expected to do everything.

His mom gave his phone back when he was discharged, but made him promise not to use it unless it was an emergency- at least until Recovery Girl cleared him. He felt a little guilty for not texting the group to say he’d be back today, but he didn’t want to make her worry. Besides, he could tell them in person anyway.

The walk from the station felt wrong without Ochako beside him. They usually walked in silence anyway- but this silence stretched too long. He’d had to come in early for his check-in with Recovery Girl. Even if he’d caught their usual train, she wouldn’t have known to wait.

The appointment went fine. Recovery Girl said he’d probably be allowed to use his phone again by Saturday- she just wanted to see how he handled school first before making any promises.

Even after arriving early, he was still the last to get to homeroom- well, other than Aizawa-sensei. But he was always the last one in. Always right as the bell rang.
It was still a few minutes too early for that.

The class exploded . Yells, cheers, movement- everyone crowding around, trying to make sure he was okay, but it was too much, too much , the lights too bright and the air too sharp and- 

BOOM.

A familiar explosion shattered the noise.

"Shut the fuck up!" Bakugo’s voice cracked through the silence like a thunderclap. “The damn nerd can’t even breathe with you extras swarming him. This is fucking disgusting to watch.”

And with that, he turned his desk away from the door.

Izuku’s eyes went wide.
Did Bakugo just... help?

The class muttered apologies, retreating like scolded puppies back to their seats- except for Tokoyami, who stepped forward, steadying Izuku with one arm and guiding him to their desks.

Dark Shadow started up a quiet, breathless ramble:
“Zumies we were so worried and no one would tell us anything and then you said you were fine but resting and now you’re here and and I had no one to throw a roll at during lunch yesterday you’re not allowed to do that you are my cinnamon roll and you got hurt Zumies don’t do that again- ”

“I’ll try not to get punted like a football again,” Izuku said with a wry grin. “Just for you, Dark Shadow.”

Then he turned to Tokoyami.
“By the way- did Aizawa make any announcements while I was gone yesterday?”

The room dropped three degrees.

“Uh... bro,” Kirishima said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aizawa wasn’t here yesterday either…”

What?

Tsu picked up the thread.
“Sub said he’d be out for weeks- kero.”

Weeks?
Sensei?
But...
They said...
I thought I saved him?
Is he dying?
Is he dead?
Did I really do noth- 

The door slammed open-
just as the bell rang.

And there he was.

Bandaged from temple to toe, dark hair messier than usual, one eye uncovered and glaring with surgical precision.

Aizawa Shouta.

Alive.

Standing.

Grumpy as hell.

He swept the room once, spotted Izuku mid-spiral, and narrowed that one visible eye like a scalpel.

“I’m not dead,” he said flatly. “Sit down.”

It hit Izuku like a weighted blanket to the soul. That strange, grounding pressure he hadn’t even realized he was craving. The static in his brain fizzled out.

Tokoyami blinked. Dark Shadow whispered reverently, “The mummy returns.”

Aizawa limped fully inside, coat dragging just a little more than usual.

“And if anyone else asks,” he added, without turning around, “I will pretend to be, so I don’t have to deal with it.”

He reached the desk. Sat. Winced.

“I do have an announcement,” he said, voice flat as ever. “Your fight isn’t over.”

No one dared to speak.

Izuku sat very, very still.

“The U.A. Sports Festival is in three weeks,” Aizawa continued, as if someone had just told him he had to supervise a clown parade. “Despite my... vigorous objections.”

A subtle emphasis. A direct translation: I tried to kill this with fire and paperwork.

“So,” he added, tone sharpening, “the gyms will be open after school for those approved for full activity.”

His one visible eye pinned Izuku like a thumbtack.

Izuku flinched. Nodded.

But he was okay.
They were okay.
Even if only for now.

He was not okay.

Lunch had come, but the hallway to the cafeteria was a wall- an angry tide of students from other classes blocking his path. His usual lifelines- the class reps- were nowhere to be found. All around him was a sea of strangers, eyes like daggers aimed straight at 1-A.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, low but sharp enough to sting.

“Hero Course gets silver spoons, and we’re stuck scraping for scraps.”
That’s...

“Must be nice to get famous for almost dying.”
What? No!

“I heard someone actually did die. Must suck to be so useless.”
I’m... not useless... am I?

Deku. He flinched. 

Then, cutting through the noise, came a voice- crisp, cold, deliberate.
“Idiots who can’t even count don’t belong in Gen Ed.”
Monoma? But-

“No shame in Gen Ed, of course,” he continued smoothly. “It’s just... if you trained even half as much as you gossiped, you might have made it somewhere worthwhile.”

He stepped forward, every ounce of theatrical disdain rehearsed to perfection. His head tilted like a judge weighing a sorry case, eyes scanning the crowd and finding them wanting.
I thought he hated me?

“I suppose I can’t blame the rest of you,” he added, voice softening just a hair, “1-A is full of glory hogs.”

His glance flickered toward Izuku- brief, unreadable- concern twisted into performance, safe and palatable.

The tension eased just a hair, but Izuku and his classmates were still boxed in, on display in a way he’d never wanted. One student opened their mouth, likely to pile on, when- 

“You are all cluttering the halls.”

The voice sliced through the tension, a scalpel of impatience.

“There is no need for such pointless rubbernecking.”

Heads turned as a new figure emerged, arms folded, posture perfect and unforgiving. His hair slicked back like armor, expression blank- except for the unmistakable lack of patience.

“Although…” His gaze swept over where 1-A was still pinned in the doorway. No mockery, just cold assessment.

“You should not rest on your laurels. The Sports Festival is an opportunity. Any student could steal your future out from under you. That’s simply the market.”

With a curt nod, he turned and left, leaving behind a silence thick enough to choke on.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

The crowd hung in that quiet, stunned and uncertain- like they'd been slapped by someone who hadn't even raised their voice.

Izuku exhaled, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath. The confrontation had passed, technically- but the tension hadn’t left his spine. It just shifted. Recoiled. Waited.

Wait- Bakugo- 

Izuku instantly braced for the usual blast- noise, fire, fury. 

But Bakugo was silent. 

A glance back showed the anger- oh, it was there, burning behind his eyes. But it stayed locked behind his teeth, fists clenched so tight they trembled.

His glare tracked the retreating figure like a targeting laser.

Still, he said nothing.

The crowd, losing interest, scattered with a final, careless “Tch, whatever.”

Izuku’s eyes flicked to Bakugo, confused. Without a word, Bakugo stalked off- away from the lunchroom. Izuku thought about following for a beat, before turning back to catch up with his friends.

Chapter Text

Classes were anticlimactic after the hallway- almost.
Most of his classmates tread lightly around him now, reminded of the rumors of his death. Of him being missing for a day. Whispers wrapped in glances. Questions left hanging in the air.
Thankfully, his friends had a bit more tact.

Kirishima challenged him to an arm wrestling match after lunch.

Hitoshi handed over his notes with a wry grin as they walked back together, muttering “free period cramming.”

Ochako tossed him a thumbs-up and a blinding smile on their way to the Support Studio for sixth period.

And Tokoyami? Tokoyami just vibed at his side, as steady as ever- with Dark Shadow sneaking rolls into his pockets every time he blinked.
How did she manage to get so many?

The one time he caught her, she just giggled and whispered, “You need to keep up your strength!”

For a few moments, it almost felt normal.

But it wasn’t.

Other classmates kept sneaking glances, like they were waiting for him to vanish between Powerloader’s lecture and Hatsume’s next explosion.

Even Bakugo gave him a glance- strange, unreadable, far too long- before turning away with a sharp “Tch.”

Whatever this fragile illusion was, it shattered when Powerloader called him aside before heroics. “You’re headed for Recovery Girl’s Office.”

Oh.
Yeah.
They were still worried about his heart.

He didn’t say anything while he packed his bag.

No one else did either.

It wasn’t like he wanted to go to heroics- not really.

His chest still ached when he pushed too hard. His limbs still moved like strangers to him.

But watching the others file out with easy laughter- it still stung.

They got to move forward. He got sent to the nurse’s office.

His steps dragged far behind the rest of the group. Every tap of his shoes echoed like a countdown:
You’re not ready. You’re still broken. You’re not like them.

He passed the training field windows where students stretched, laughed, warmed up with Snipe-Sensei. Today was supposed to be quirked capture the flag- at least, that’s what the syllabus said...

Izuku didn’t wave.

Didn’t want to interrupt.

Didn’t want to be seen.

Now that he was alone, his thoughts refused to be silenced.
How useless is he?

He turned the corner and barely stopped himself before colliding with Cementoss.

One firm, steady hand caught him. “Whoa there, young Midoriya.”

“Sorry,” Izuku mumbled. “Didn’t see you.”

Cementoss studied him for a moment, then nodded. “You headed to Recovery Girl?”

Izuku nodded.

“Well. That’s not a punishment, you know.”

Izuku gave him the smallest smile. “I know.”

But he didn’t believe it.

Not with Deku ringing in his brain like a ghost refusing to fade

Recovery Girl’s office smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender- the kind of scent that promised healing but couldn’t erase worry. She sat behind her desk, eyes trained on the monitor as it beeped steadily.

A flicker crossed her face. “There’s a slight arrhythmia,” she said, voice firm. “Any stressors today, Izuku?”

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, gaze fixed on his hands. The words tangled in his throat. Don’t get anyone in trouble.

After a beat, she softened, leaning forward. “We’re just worried about you. This could be serious if we ignore it. That’s why we don’t want to.”

His breath hitched. “Some kids cornered me at lunch… said some stuff about the attack.” He paused, then rushed on, “Ah, but it’s my fault!” He waved his hands like trying to push away the weight. “If I’d done better, they wouldn’t have…”

She cut him off gently but firmly. “Dearie, none of that. You were in a traumatic situation. Those kids shouldn’t have rubbed that trauma in your face. I know you were due for Hound Dog later today, but I think I need to call him in now.”

Izuku’s throat tightened. “I-I think… ” He swallowed hard, the memory of the last time Recovery Girl suggested Hound Dog flashing through his mind- the time he said no, said he could wait, and nearly fell apart anyway.

“T-That- that’s probably a good idea.” His voice was small, almost a whisper.

His shoulders sagged slightly as the smallest exhale escaped him- the faintest loosening of the grip he’d been holding so tight.

Recovery Girl gave him a gentle smile, and a squeeze of his shoulder. “That’s right, dearie.” She pushed some gummies into his hand. “Just sit tight and we’ll get him here in a jiffy.”

Hound Dog had stayed with him for about an hour, patient and grounded, guiding him through the storm. Afterward, Recovery Girl resumed the check-up with a thoughtful hum. She pressed the stethoscope to his chest again and frowned- this time in surprise, not concern.

“Huh,” she muttered. “The arrhythmia’s gone...” She straightened with a nod, then said more clearly, “Okay, dearie. You need to keep calm. I hope you don’t have any exciting afternoon plans!”

“Ah- no!” Izuku stammered. “Just going to kitten-sit some future therapy cats!”

“Good.” She handed him another packet of gummies and patted his shoulder. “No surprises tomorrow, dearie. I want that heart of yours boring and predictable when you come in the morning.”

Izuku wrapped up just before heroics ended The tight weight in his chest loosened- air came easier, lighter. Maybe... maybe he was ready to see his friends again.

Outside the changing rooms, he found them, hesitant but smiling.
“Hey,” he said. “Therapy got moved up- I can come over to the cats with you guys!”

A burst of cheerful welcomes wrapped around him like a warm, messy knot of classmates spilling toward the train station.

Dark Shadow flung herself over his shoulders like a feather boa hopped up on energy.
“And then Fumi-nii goes, ‘Dark Shadow, use Confusion!’ So I hit Ashido with puns, and she was so confused. Shield-nii nodded seriously, said, ‘It’s super effective,’ and Ashido just blinked. Then Ocha yells, ‘Upsy-daisy!’- like her chat name, right?- and Ashido went flying while I snagged her team’s flag!”

Izuku laughed. Not a quiet chuckle, but a full, surprised laugh that cracked the day’s dull shell. The world still had miles to go... but right now, it smelled like sun-warmed jackets, echoed with reckless mischief, and promised kitten paws waiting just ahead.

The door clicked closed behind Kirishima’s aunt. Silence fell- not empty, but thick with knowing. Like the cats were waiting.

Izuku blinked.

“So… no catnip chaos this time. What’s the plan? Feed, litter boxes, snuggles?”

A heavy thump rattled the house-  the kind of sound that meant something large and floofy had just dropped from somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t have.

Shinso, clutching a canned coffee like life support, murmured, “We are seen.”

Captain Snuggles collapsed in a therapeutic flop across Izuku’s chest, warm and weighty.

BatCat slinked onto the armrest, her cloudy eyes drilling into Izuku like a silent interrogation.

SpiderCat sat... where?

On top of the fireplace? When did he get up there? Did he bring kibble?

“Don’t move,” Tokoyami said from nearby, voice dry, perched with practiced resignation.

“Dark Shadow has decided you need… fortification.”

“And stories!” Dark Shadow purred, nestling into Izuku’s hair.

“Did I tell you about the time Fumi-nii tried to learn parkour?”

Kirishima was coaching Present Meow, who was trying to harmonize with the kettle’s high-pitched screech.

“Breathe between notes, buddy. You got this.”

Ochako brushed Madame Purrington gently. The cat raised a paw, laid it on Ochako’s thigh, and blinked once- judging an entire bloodline in that single, slow blink.

Shinso?

He was face-down on the carpet, All Floof draped over him like a divine fur weighted blanket.

“I’m not stuck,” he muttered. “I’m calibrating.”

A sudden knock cracked the cozy silence.

Shinso peeled the fur off and rose, slow and wary and went to open the door.

“You guys said I was invited too, right?”

Monoma’s voice was barely there- a fragile secret spilled into the quiet room.

A breath hung.

Then Shinso’s reply, low and almost swallowed by the air.

Monoma stepped inside.

“Hey,” his voice rough, unsure- as if testing if the world still held him.

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

The cats froze- like they sensed something heavier than kibble or snuggles had entered.

They settled into comfortable silence. Izuku savored the confirmation: Monoma didn’t hate him. Meanwhile, the cats decided he needed extra attention.

Somewhere along the way, five cats had claimed him.

He was too polite to ask for help- even though his legs had gone numb.

BatCat held his gaze, unblinking, like an interrogation.

I still don’t get how she does that. She’s blind. But it’s incredible. Does she have a quirk? That would be so cool! Quirked animals are rare!

Dark Shadow rambled on about some disaster involving Tokoyami, a screwdriver, and a banana.

Izuku wasn’t sure where the story was headed, but her enthusiasm was infectious.

Tokoyami looked like he regretted every life choice.

And through it all- 

SpiderCat watched.

Still.

Unblinking.

From his perch near the ceiling.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke up to the smell of mint shampoo and cat fur.

There was still a faint ache in his chest- less physical, more echo - but it no longer throbbed like an open wound. The warmth from yesterday’s chaos-cloaked comfort lingered in his muscles. It smelled like old wood floors and canned coffee and something soft purring against his ribcage.

He didn’t dream of villains.

Instead, he remembered Captain Snuggles launching himself with divine authority into his lap, and Shinso's muffled declaration from beneath All Floof: “I’m calibrating.” Dark Shadow’s banana-screwdriver story still made no sense, but it helped . Somehow.

He got dressed quietly, his limbs a little looser than usual. His thoughts were quieter too. They didn’t chase him like they had yesterday. Instead, they walked alongside him- still there, but not in charge.

Recovery Girl just nodded, motioned him to sit, and offered him a fresh packet of gummies without a word. The lavender scent was the same, the heart monitor steady.

“Vitals are better today,” she said, examining the readout. “Still want to keep an eye on that heart of yours. Stop by during your sixth-period free block. If things look this good then, I’ll clear you for Heroics. Seems like those kittens knew what they were about.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, hand automatically tightening around the gummy packet.

“Good.” Her smile was small but genuine. “Keep the stress down dearie, we care about you.”

He smiled back, “I will try!”

Aizawa entered like a rumor- bandaged, bleary-eyed, and barely louder than the whisper of the sliding door. The hush that followed wasn't commanded, exactly. It just happened , like the room forgot how to breathe.

He dropped a tablet onto the lectern with a soft clack - a small sound that still made Izuku flinch. Aizawa’s eyes, red-rimmed and sharp, swept the room like searchlights cutting through mist.

“You didn’t start any fights yesterday.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence that stretched longer than it needed to.

“That’s progress.”

Izuku wasn’t sure if that was praise or a warning. Probably both. It sounded like both. It felt like both. The kind of line that might’ve made Bakugo scoff- except Bakugo didn’t scoff anymore. Not in class.

Aizawa started scrolling through the tablet, eyes flicking from line to line without changing. He acted like he wasn’t still dressed like the mummy. No eyebrow raise. No sigh. Just that tired, constant focus.

“If you’re being harassed, report it. Don’t be clever. Don’t be noble.
If you’re stupid enough to retaliate, expect consequences.”

The words didn’t seem aimed at anyone in particular- but they still landed like they were. They settled into Izuku’s spine, just under the skin.

Aizawa didn’t look up as he said it. He didn’t need to. The whole room felt it- like soot drifting down after a fire.

Then his gaze rose.

Izuku felt it before it even reached him- a tickle at the back of his neck, the sudden awareness of being seen. He sat up a little straighter, hands still folded on his desk. He didn’t think he was fidgeting. Not much, anyway. He’d slept last night. Mostly. That had to count for something.

He looked better . Right?

Aizawa’s eyes lingered. Just a second too long.

Izuku’s stomach tensed. Was that guilt? No- what would Aizawa have to feel guilty for ?

The older man cleared his throat. The moment slipped, like thread pulled from a seam..

“No one’s lost after-school gym access yet,” he muttered, more to the room than to any person in it. “That’s a first. Keep it that way.”

And then he turned, coat dragging behind him like a warning.

He didn’t look back.

Cementos arrives briskly after that, eyes bright beneath those ever-curious glasses, carrying a stack of well-worn books and a faint scent of chalk dust mixed with old paper-  like wisdom itself had a smell. His smile is warm but sharp, as if he’s already ready to unravel stories and minds alike.

He starts not with rules or grades, but a challenge:

“Today, we’ll explore the power of words not just to describe, but to transform . To unlock truths buried beneath what’s spoken and what’s left unsaid .”

His voice ripples through the room like a whisper spreading in a cave.

“Think of your quirks, your fears, your moments of pain and triumph. How would you write those if you had to show someone without telling ?”

The cafeteria buzzed softly, a gentle hum beneath the clatter of trays and low conversations. Izuku sat surrounded by the usual group- a small island of calm amid the lunchtime tide.

Ochako nudged Izuku playfully. “So, Kirishima, you really think you can beat Dark Shadow in arm wrestling? That’s… bold.”

Kirishima grinned, flexing without hesitation. “I’ve got this in the bag.”

Dark Shadow, hovering nearby with her signature cool presence, flicked a shadowy tendril toward Kirishima’s arm. “Words are cheap, Shield-nii. Prove it.”

A friendly challenge sparked between the two, and the group chuckled, warmth blooming like sunlight through clouds.

From across the room, Izuku’s gaze caught Monoma's eyes locking onto his for just a heartbeat- a sharp nod in his direction- before Monoma whipped his head away, blending instantly into the crowd as if the moment never happened.

The unspoken message hung there, thin as air but heavy with weight.

Izuku’s phone buzzed, a quiet vibra tion against the table. He glanced down, then back up, voice low but steady. “Sorry, I’ve got to meet with some people from the student council.”

Ochako gave a small, encouraging smile. “Good luck.”

Tokoyami gave a brief nod. “Be careful.”

“Take your roll!” Dark Shadow’s voice slid through the noise, calm but with a spark of mischief. With a flick of a shadowy tendril -  the part not currently busy pinning Shield-nii’s arm -  she lobbed an Anpan roll across the table.

Izuku caught it almost instinctively, a flicker of surprise curling through him. Anpan? That was new. She’d always tossed him savory rolls before. A slow smile tugged at his lips as he shifted the roll in his hands.

He nodded, steadying himself, then stood with a quiet purpose- the calm before something waiting in the wings.

The corner table was already scattered with prototypes and tablets when Izuku approached. Momo, Inku, and Hatsume were deep in discussion.

Momo looked up with a warm, precise smile. “Midoriya, perfect timing. We were just going over the final features for SchoolNet.”

Inku twirled a pen thoughtfully, eyes sparkling with quiet enthusiasm. “The network’s almost ready for launch. We want to invite you to join us for the weekend testing phase.”

Hatsume practically vibrated in place. “And I’ve got some new toys to add! Think of it like a digital playground for hero training. Plus, gadgets, gadgets, and more gadgets.” She handed a pair of gloves off to him “These will monitor your vitals so an emergency alert can be sent to Recovery Girl if there's an emergency!” Then she pushed a small earbud into his hand - “And these will allow you to connect to voice chat if you snap your fingers! In case you need an emergency communication method!” finally she pushed a watch onto him “This is a holo-projector watch that uses echolocation to build a map of your surroundings and highlight escape routes!”

Izuku’s chest swelled with a mixture of nerves and excitement. “This is so amazing! I’d love to help. This could really change how we connect -  and how we learn.”

Momo nodded firmly. “Exactly. It’s more than just tech. It’s about building trust across all classes.”

Inku’s calm voice added, “We’re counting on you to help shape how SchoolNet serves everyone. Leadership means more than just a title.”

Hatsume bounced a little, eyes wild with possibility. “Plus, I promise you’ll get to play with my inventions. No boring meetings here!”

Izuku smiled, “did you add the analysis corner I talked about last meeting?”

Momo’s eyes softened just a little, like she could see the weight behind his quiet smile. “Yes, the analysis corner is there. We want everyone to have the tools to understand themselves and each other better. It’s more than numbers- it’s about connection.”

Inku nodded, their voice steady and sure. “That’s why having you involved matters. You bring a perspective rooted in hope and persistence. SchoolNet needs that heart.”

Hatsume chimed in, a grin lighting up her face. “And don’t worry, the gadgets won’t let you down. This weekend, we’ll push the limits- and maybe break a few things. All in the name of hero training, right?” 

Izuku laughed softly, feeling the quiet spark of something new stirring inside-  a flicker of hope wrapped in circuits and courage. Maybe this was more than just a project. Maybe it was the start of something bigger-  a real connection, a new kind of hero.

He sat nervously, waiting for the verdict- was he good to go, or about to sit out another important class?

Recovery Girl’s eyes flicked up from the monitor with a small, approving nod.

“Vitals are even better than this morning. Good progress.”

She slid the heart monitor off his finger and folded it away with quiet efficiency.

“I’m giving you a cautious green light for Heroics- but listen closely.”

Her voice sharpened. No fluff. No sugar.

“The second you feel even the slightest bit off, you tell Thirteen. No heroics, no pushing through. You stop. You report. Understood?”

Izuku nodded immediately, the seriousness settling in like a steady flame.

“No exceptions. We care too much to let you learn that lesson the hard way.”
She offered a small smile, but it didn’t soften the edge in her tone- because sometimes, love looks like a firm warning.

“Oh!” Izuku brightened, pulling the gloves from his bag. “Hatsume gave me these- they’ll signal you if my vitals change. Let me get the app on your phone.”

Recovery Girl raised an eyebrow, amused but intrigued.

“Well then, let’s get you connected. This tech better keep you safe, young man.”

Thirteen-Sensei always led the class through lessons in perseverance- no shortcuts, no pity, just sweat and strategy. She did this through a game called Quirkless Tag : no powers, no gear, just raw instinct and grit.

They’d played first with Mirko.

That had been... a disaster.

Mirko was relentless, tracking them down like a wolf in a field of limping rabbits. The game barely lasted half an hour before the entire class was flat on the ground.

Izuku had tried- he really had!- but after that final kick to the head, it took him a full minute just to sit upright again.
By then, the whole class had been down for eleven seconds- one second past the cutoff.

Mount Lady had been easier. Still a Pro. Still fast. But newer. No convenient mutations left “accidentally” on. Even so, she’d made it look easy , whittling them down and landing the final tag just after the hour mark.

Both sessions had made one thing painfully clear:

The gap between Pro and student wasn’t something you could wish away with determination and adrenaline.

But they were getting closer.

They were lasting longer.

Moving smarter.

Covering each other.

Learning.

And now?

Now the class was ready to win.

Not just scrape by.

Not just earn a sympathetic nod and another half-hour lecture followed by endless laps.

They wanted the victory .

They wanted the ice cream party Thirteen-Sensei had promised- the one they’d been chasing since Day One.

This time, they were going to earn it.

The syllabus said Week Three would feature a UA teacher as the assistant. Aizawa was the only one Izuku was really worried about- and he was still bandaged up. With him out, Izuku had sketched out plans to help the class not only survive , but win . He’d even gone over a few ideas with Momo during their free period, right after Recovery Girl cleared him for participation.

“Hello, students!” Thirteen-Sensei called out with her usual cheer.

“I’m afraid your regularly scheduled Pro was unable to attend today.”

Izuku blinked.

Wait. It was supposed to be Aizawa. But... why did Thirteen-sensei sound... a little too cheerful? There was a glint in her eye that felt vaguely sadistic .

A red feather drifted down from the roof of Gym Gamma.

Red? Isn’t that- ?

“Hey, chickadees,” came a lazy voice from above.

Izuku’s gaze snapped upward.

Perched on one of the higher catwalks like it was the world’s comfiest couch was none other than Japan’s Number Three Pro Hero- grinning like he’d just crashed a birthday party he secretly organized himself.

Izuku’s stomach flipped.
Hawks?

This was going to be brutal.

“So my pal over there tells me you’ve been playing Quirkless Tag,” Hawks said with a lazy smile.

“Not really my thing, though.”

Oh thank god, maybe they would surv- 

“I know!” Hawks beamed. “Let’s play Quirked Tag instead! Same rules, but now? Quirks are ON!”

Oh.

Oh Fuck.

They were screwed.

Chapter Text

The classroom was quiet- no bustling crowds, no buzzing conversation. Just Izuku- he headed to a seat near the front, carefully adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves while the door clicked shut behind him.

Recovery Girl didn’t look up from the supply box she was sorting.

“You’re early.”

Izuku offered a small smile. “Didn’t want to miss anything.”

She hummed in acknowledgment. Her tone wasn’t surprised.

Then, sharper- serious, but not unkind-

“Anything you want to tell me, dearie?”

He hesitated. Shook his head.

Her frown deepened, but she said nothing more.

A minute passed. Then the door opened again.

Toyomitsu slipped in quietly, her uniform sleeves neatly rolled, dark hair tied back with clinical precision. She gave Recovery Girl a polite nod and settled into a seat at the end of the front row without a word.

Shortly after, Tsu arrived with her usual calm, offering a quiet “Good morning” before taking her spot beside Izuku.

Recovery Girl glanced at the clock. Sighed.

“Well, I suppose this is everyone. Let’s begin.”

The seminar was hands-on and no-nonsense. Pressure wraps, steri-strips, portable splints. Recovery Girl gave a rapid-fire rundown of battlefield injuries and the best responses for both quirked and quirkless bodies. Izuku listened intently, asking precise questions, practicing every fold until his hands remembered the motions.

Toyomitsu didn’t ask questions. She just worked. Every movement was deliberate- wraps tight but never constricting, folds crisp, gauze pinned with the clean finality of someone who needed this to be perfect.

Tsu followed along steadily, nodding at the anatomical models, her tongue flicking thoughtfully across her lips now and then as she tested sling placements.

When Izuku finished demonstrating a shoulder wrap for the third time, Recovery Girl gave a single grunt of approval. It was the only praise she offered all morning.

He beamed anyway.

It wasn’t until the wrapping demo concluded that she changed the tone.

“You need to take your own health seriously.”

Izuku froze, halfway through tying a sling.

“You cannot save anyone,” Recovery Girl continued, “unless you save yourself first.”

He swallowed.

Nodded.

But she wasn’t done.

“Say for instance,” she said, her voice deceptively casual, “your heart skips a beat sixteen times during a Heroics class.”

The air left the room.
Izuku glanced sideways- at Tsu, at Toyomitsu- please let them think this is hypothetical.

“Maybe, just maybe, you should seek medical attention rather than brushing it off. Especially,” her gaze pinned him, sharp as a scalpel, “if you promised you would. Because you’ve been having issues with arrhythmia. You know- ”

He was wearing Hatsume’s gloves. The ones that recorded every heartbeat, feeding the data straight to Recovery Girl’s phone...

Please heart- stay calm. 

Don’t set off the emergency notification.

Not now. 

Please.  

“- be a responsible hero who takes your role in this society seriously.”

There was no anger in her voice. Just deep, relentless care- honed to a needlepoint edge.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t excuse.

She let the silence stretch, just long enough to draw blood.

Then, with a sigh, she stepped forward, picked up the half-wrapped sling from his hands, and re-tied it in two swift motions.

“Now,” she said, her voice cool again, “if the elbow joint is unstable, support it like this.”

Izuku forced himself to focus.

But the echo of those sixteen beats lingered in his mind.

Later, while they practiced bracing techniques on rescue mannequins, Toyomitsu’s wrap work caught his eye. Clean, clinical. Efficient.

“You’ve done this before,” Izuku said quietly.

Toyomitsu didn’t look up. “Sometimes you don’t get to wait for help,” she said. “So you learn to be it.”

Izuku blinked.

Something about the way she said it- carefully flat, like she’d filed down the edges- stuck with him.

She didn’t elaborate. Just adjusted the sling on her practice dummy and moved on.

When Recovery Girl dismissed them, she handed each student a small parting kit- emergency compresses, sakura-patterned gauze rolls, a cool pack shaped like a frog.

“Don’t sell them,” she warned, watching Tsu eye the frog one with interest.

“But you can trade them,” she added with a wink.

Outside the classroom, Toyomitsu adjusted her cuffs once again. The gesture looked less like fidgeting and more like buttoning up armor.
She gave Izuku a polite nod before heading off, bag slung over one shoulder like she was marching into battle.

Izuku stood there a moment longer, compress kit in hand, wondering what battles she’d already fought- and how many more they’d all face before this year was done.

By the time Izuku made it back to the cafeteria, the noon rush had settled into its usual rhythm- half-eaten trays, scattered laughter, the low hum of tired students recharging before the next round. He spotted the others near the windows, sunlight painting lazy patterns across their table. Tokoyami sat hunched over a mostly untouched bento, his expression unreadable. That alone might not have signaled anything was wrong. But the way Dark Shadow stood, wings outstretched and notebook raised to the heavens like an offering? That was warning enough.

With a dramatic swoop and flair that would’ve earned her a standing ovation in any proper theater, she raised the sheet of notebook paper high above her head-Tokoyami’s carefully scribbled poetry fluttering like sacred scripture in her claws.

“Ahem,” she said, with a throat-clear that somehow echoed across the quiet table despite the dozens of students milling nearby.

“From the depths of midnight sorrow,” she began, her voice slow and trembling with emotion, “a single crow cries into the abyss-KAW!”

“Dark Shadow-” Tokoyami tried, but she was already gone. Spiraling.

“Silence, poet! Let your soul speak!” she cried, eyes locked on the page with near-devotional fervor.

Ochako was giggling so hard she’d nearly dropped her chopsticks. Kirishima had to clutch his tray to keep it from shaking. Even Shinso had cracked a smile.

Izuku was red in the face, caught between secondhand embarrassment and absolute wonder. He ducked his head as Dark Shadow turned slightly, just enough to angle the next line his way.

She flailed for emphasis.

“Is it the moon I mourn-or the reflection of myself I see in shattered glass?” she intoned, deadly serious. “Alas! I am naught but smoke and regret-held together by… duct tape and spite. ”

Kirishima choked on his rice.

“That’s not even in the original,” Tokoyami muttered under his breath.

Dark Shadow grinned, whispering loud enough for all of them to hear: “I took artistic liberties.”

Ochako wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. “You’re incredible.”

“Thank you,” she said solemnly, placing the paper down like a holy relic. Then-her voice returning to normal-“ Okay. Poem number two is titled Existential Screaming: A Sonata in D Minor. ”

“Maybe we eat first?” Shinso offered.

Dark Shadow hesitated, then pointed her fork dramatically at Tokoyami’s lunch. “But the artist is starving! Feed the goth!”

Tokoyami sighed as Shinso slid half his roll across the table.

She accepted it graciously... and with zero hesitation, flung it directly to Izuku with a delighted cackle.

----

Izuku barely had time to finish his lunch before the Shaping Your Spotlight seminar was slated to start. He wasn’t sure what he had expected- but it wasn’t for Uwabami to walk in like she belonged on a battlefield, not a studio.

Sharp heels. Sharper eyes. None of the fluffy elegance from her commercials.

She didn’t waste time.

“If you weren’t training,” she said, stepping to the front of the room, “if you weren’t a hero student- who would you still be?”

No introduction. No slides. Just that question.

It hit harder than any opening punch.

The room quieted in stages. Izuku’s fingers twitched toward his pen.

“Your power isn’t your identity,” Uwabami said. Her voice was smooth, but there was steel in it. “Your quirk, your agency, your rank- those are tools. But who you are? That’s built on what you protect. What drives you. And what stays the same no matter how famous you get.”

Izuku started scribbling.

What do I protect by instinct?

What part of me is too quiet- but matters most?

He underlined instinct twice before glancing up. Hagakure straightened up- visible in the folds of her uniform- like she’d just heard something she already knew, but needed someone else to say out loud. Ashido had her head tilted. She looked… thoughtful. Curious, even.

Uwabami let the silence stretch, unbothered. Then she shifted gears.

“You don’t have to show everything,” she said, pacing lightly in front of the class. “But what you show should be true.”

Next to him Kaminari leaned back in his seat. The guy was never great at sitting still- but he was listening. Really listening.

“You have more control than you think,” Uwabami continued. “What you wear. How you speak. The name you choose. Every piece sends a message. So you need to ask yourself- are you leaving clues worth reading?”

Izuku blinked at that.

His costume had gone through so many changes- each tweak a little closer to what felt right.

But was it intentional?

Was it him , or was it what he thought people needed him to be?

“What if we don’t know yet?” someone asked from the back. Sounded like Monoma- quieter than usual.

Uwabami smiled. Not the polished PR smile. This one was gentler. Real.

“That’s where everyone starts.”

Yuga sat across the aisle from Izuku, his hand resting on his cheek, elbow on the desk. He looked focused- kind of serious in a way Izuku didn’t see often. Like someone trying to figure out if the reflection in the mirror was really his.

Izuku’s pen hovered over his notebook again. So many questions.

But one stood out more than the rest.

What do I want people to know about me?

He didn’t have an answer. Not yet.

Uwabami gave the room one last pass before stopping near the board.

“Truth,” she said quietly, “has to show up in your choices. Again and again. You can’t just say it- you have to live it. In combat, in interviews, in the small moments when no one’s watching.”

Izuku sat straighter.

“You’ll evolve. Everyone does. But the core?” She tapped her chest once. “That has to stay solid. Otherwise, you’re just a costume.”

She let them sit with that.

Then she passed out a half-sheet of paper. No branding. No logos. Just three handwritten questions printed in clean ink:

Who am I, beneath the quirk?
What do I want to show the world?
How can I start living that?

“You can reflect privately,” she said, her voice lightening. “Or workshop in pairs. Or share aloud, if you want. It’s your call.”

The room shifted.
Aoyama uncapped his pen.
Hagakure leaned forward, invisible head bowed over her desk.
Kaminari tapped his page once, then slowly started writing.

Izuku stared down at the questions. His hands were steady- but his heart wasn’t.

Who am I, beneath the quirk?

He hesitated.

Before U.A.- before All Might- he was just a hero hopeful. No friends. No one who believed in him.

But now-

Ochako beamed at him: “I got MVP! ...And it’s all thanks to you!”
Monoma crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow- looking almost... approving: “Okay, didn’t see that coming… but I still beat you by a point.”
Kirishima snapped into action, protecting Hagakure without hesitation- because he listened to Izuku’s warning.
Tokoyami’s quiet glances- eyes screaming: just be yourself.
Dark Shadow, cackling as she threw another roll at his head.

Who am I?

A planner, he wrote quickly.

An analyzer, he scratched in next.

Someone who has quick reflexes.

He tapped the page absently, mentally chewing on one more idea.

I want to be someone who approves of themselves , he added, hesitant- but honest.

What do I want to show the world?

That I see them, he started.
That they can feel safe because I can handle it.
He bit his lip, then added:
Showing them who I am so they can know what I can do.

How can I start living that?

Planning. Reflexes. Self-love.
How do I show all of that?

His mind started to wander- to that cat compilation they’d always joked about making.

Shinso had actually done it.

Izuku had watched in disbelief: BatCat zipping around the yard while they all stumbled after her- then the cut to him. Lit up. Zooming through the gym. Moving like lightning,

Cats…

Good reflexes. Fast. Self-assured. Intelligent…

No.

Not cats .

Felis.

His mind was already whirring with ideas for costume improvements.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet in the way only Sunday mornings could be. Izuku had been camping in his mom's since leaving the hospital so she could monitor him at night, but she finally was allowing him to help out a bit. He stood at the kitchen counter in his pajamas, the sleeves bunched near his elbows, hair still mussed from sleep. The air smelled of warm rice and soy, a familiar comfort-and yet, something was different. He paused mid-peel, frowning at the carrot without really seeing it. Something was off. Not bad. Just... off.

When the katsudon was served, he took a careful bite, chewing slowly.

"Still perfect," he said after a moment, then glanced up at his mother with a small, tilted smile. "Even though its baked, not fried"

Inko didn’t look up from where she was rinsing the ladle. “We’re being kind to your heart, Izuku.”

He didn’t reply, just nodded once and took another bite. The taste settled low in his chest-nostalgic and warm, even if it didn’t carry quite the usual weight.

Later, they curled up on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. It was some old animated show, not a hero movie - just something with exaggerated catchphrases and ridiculous plot twists. Izuku watched half-heartedly, his fingers twitching against the fabric of his notebook resting nearby.

“Do you think... I could do a little hero analysis after this? Just watching, not anything physical.”

Inko didn’t pause the movie. She glanced at him over her glasses, one brow raised.

“Let’s wait until Recovery Girl gives the okay, sweetheart.”

He sighed, nodded, and didn’t push it. Instead, he let himself sink deeper into the cushions, eyes wandering. The morning passed in small motions-dishes done, homework reviewed, the pages of his notebook left blank.

He lay sprawled across the couch, one arm dangling over the side, his phone balanced on his chest. The screen lit up with a quiet ping.

FROM: TheDarkPoet
MSG SENT -  1:41 PM

Join me in consuming coffee as dark as our souls,
while our shadows revel in the spice of rolls.

Izuku couldn’t help it. His lips twitched into a smile, the first real one since Friday.

A second message arrived seconds later.

FROM: TheDarkPoet
MSG SENT -  1:45 PM

Zumies come or I'll eat all the cinnamon rolls without you

Attached was a photo: Dark Shadow looming triumphantly over a mug of coffee with a cinnamon roll shoved into it like a marshmallow in cocoa.

Izuku laughed aloud. He sat up, still chuckling as he turned the phone toward his mom.

Inko glanced at the screen. “Alright,” she said, already standing. “But no coffee. Decaf, if you have to have something. And text me when you get there. And when you’re heading back. And no running. And sit if you feel fluttery. And-”

“I will. I promise.”

She handed him his jacket and folded his scarf around his neck herself. Her hands lingered just a moment longer than needed.

“Tell Tokoyami and Dark Shadow thank you,” she said.

“I will.”

She hesitated, then added, softer still, “...And thank them for watching over my boy.”

Dark Shadow thrust the cinnamon roll toward Izuku with dramatic flair.

“A gift, Zumies!” she declared.

He blinked, a little startled, then accepted it with a small, grateful smile-

Only for her to pounce, cackling, and launch into a recitation:

“A spiral of rich, golden-brown dough-
it ever reminds me of you, you know?
Those silly little rants you do,
when you forget to breathe and your lips turn blue?”

Izuku froze, cinnamon roll halfway to his mouth.

Across the small table, Tokoyami sat with the unmistakable posture of someone

deeply regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

His eyes locked onto Izuku’s with a silent message:

“I cannot stop her.”

“And the crust is firm to the touch,
like your muscles-just enough
to hide your soft, squishy center inside,
which you wear on your sleeve like a badge of pride.”

Izuku’s face turned red. He looked down at the pastry like it might save him.

It would not.

Dark Shadow, undeterred, continued with wicked glee:

“And the aroma that I smell-
soft yet sharp and sugary as well-
contrasts nicely with that odor
when you’ve worked hard to dodge the Explodier.”

Izuku made a strangled noise-half laugh, half wheeze.

Tokoyami had adopted the thousand-yard stare of a soldier on the losing end of a spiritual war.

He did not blink.

Dark Shadow raised one clawed hand, the picture of theatrical sincerity:

“And the taste-the best for last-
Let me just take a-phhhpt!”

She broke. Collapsed onto the table in helpless giggles.

“I can’t- I can’t do it anymore!" she howled, flopping across the table like a drama queen.

“Fumi, how do you live your life talking like this? It’s just so silly! ”

Tokoyami inhaled slowly through his beak. “I. Don’t. Rhyme,” he said, each word heavy with suffering.

Izuku, clutching the cinnamon roll like it was the only stable thing in his life, started laughing too.

The tension burst, and it all felt suddenly very warm and safe and ridiculous.

“You do, in your soul! ” Dark Shadow cackled, waving her arms in the air.

Izuku looked between them, helpless.

Tokoyami locked eyes with him and said, very quietly, very seriously:

“Please do not encourage her.”

Izuku didn’t know what else to do.

So he just… took a bite of the cinnamon roll.

Dark Shadow shrieked with triumph.

Tokoyami let his head fall to the table with a soft thunk , lifted one hand like a knight defeated in battle, and whispered:

“Check, please.”

The late afternoon sun slanted warm across the quiet street.

Tokoyami walked beside Izuku, hands tucked into his coat sleeves.

Dark Shadow drifted lazily above Tokoyami, her eyes following a butterfly in silence.

“So,” Izuku said, trying to sound casual. “Why did you want to be a hero?”

Tokoyami didn’t answer at first.

Izuku glanced over.

“Oh-sorry! That was rude, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean to pry! You don’t have to answer, really, I mean, I just thought-because we were already talking-but not that you have to-”

Tokoyami raised a hand, calm and steady. “Midoriya.”

Izuku barreled on.

“Like, it’s totally fine if you don’t want to talk about it! I ask too many questions, I know, I know - it’s something I’m trying to work on. Well- not work on , exactly, because I don’t want to stop caring, it’s just-”

“Zumies.”

“-that sometimes people think I’m interrogating them, which I’m not, I swear! I just really like knowing what makes people tick and-oh no, that sounds worse- and it was such a personal question too! I am-”

“Izuku.”

He blinked.

“Oh.”

Tokoyami sighed gently, and Izuku went very still, clutching his drink with both hands as if to physically keep himself from saying more. 

“It’s fine. You were right. It is personal. But this shadow, I don’t mind sharing.” 

A pause. Wind in the trees. A butterfly darted ahead. 

“…The simple answer is- I didn’t.” 

Izuku frowned.

He didn't? 

“I never wanted to be a hero.” 

Then why...

“That was my sister’s dream.” 

What?

Oh. 

Was.

Oh.

“I’m sorry she can’t live her dream,” Izuku said softly. 

“Me too,” Tokoyami murmured. Dark Shadow gently curled around Tokoyami’s shoulders, resting her face against his cheek.

Chapter Text

Recovery Girl smiled at him, pleased.

"Your gloves detected pretty normal heart activity over the weekend. Good job, dearie."

Then, more serious:

"This time, if you feel off in Heroics, I want you to actually come to me. Immediately."

School passed the way school does. Math, literature, the low hum of hallway chatter. He took notes. Ate lunch. Laughed, maybe once. Nothing really stuck.

Until Heroics.

His replacement costume had arrived. He changed into it during lunch. It felt... a little off. The green looked brighter than it used to, like it didn’t quite belong on him anymore. Still, the fit was good. Functional. He could move in it.

It was fine.

He was fine.

They were sent to Gym Charlie for today’s class- a space he'd never trained in before. It was all jagged stone and high platforms, an artificial mountain range stretching to the ceiling. Part obstacle course, part cliffside disaster zone.

I wonder what we’re doing today. Maybe Thirteen designed another game? Or a rescue scenario? That could be- 

The thought cut short.

A familiar laugh rang out overhead.

"I AM HERE!"

All Might landed hard in front of the class, dust blooming around him. His cape billowed. His presence filled the space.

All Might’s voice boomed out “I am here”
And he was not smiling.

"Today, we are- "

But the words warped-
muffled-
lost- 

A blur.
Outstretched hand, reaching for Tsu.

"And then- "

“Nomu- ”
Only mutant quirks stirred.
Tomura turned lazily.
“Kill him.”

The room tilted slightly.

 His balance wavered. His breath- too shallow now. Chest tight. Fingers tingling.

"So the objective today is- "

He was not smiling. Why was he not smiling? Why was All Might not smiling?

"Young Mid- "

Why was the symbol of peace not smiling?

"Recov- "

Pain
Nothing but pain.
Flying, falling, smashing, Pain.

“Midoriya.”

A voice. Rough, not unkind. Bark edged with steel.

“Breathe in. Now.”

He didn’t move.

A hand hovered near his shoulder. Clawed, not touching. Waiting.

“In.”

The command again, lower this time. Grounded.

Izuku’s chest jerked with the effort. Air scratched through his throat. Not enough. Not right.

“Good. You’re doing good. Now out. Slow.”

His lungs obeyed before he did. A trembling breath escaped. His vision was blurry- his gloves were shaking. No- his hands were.

“Count it. Four in. Four out.”

Familiar numbers. Something to hold.

He drew a breath. One. Two. Three. Four.

Exhaled. One. Two. Three. Four.

Hound Dog crouched in front of him, solid and steady. Not blocking. Just there. A shield without pressure. A presence without weight.

Another breath. Four. Another. Again.

Voices blurred at the edges of the gym. Nothing sharp. Nothing grabbing.

Recovery Girl’s cane clicked softly as she approached, but she didn’t speak yet. Her eyes were narrowed, watching his color. Watching his breath.

In. Out.

In. Out.

“Better,” Hound Dog said, quieter now. “Stay here. Stay with me.”

Izuku blinked hard. The mountain gym was still around him. Classmates- some frozen, some whispering. All Might… further away. Talking to Aizawa now.

But he was here.

He was still here.

And he could breathe.

Once he is recovered enough to be aware of his surroundings he was shuffled off to the med bay for inspection.

Recovery Girl’s eyes flicked to the readout from his gloves.

“Hmm. Heart rate spiked, but no skips. No strain.”

Her voice softened just a touch. “That’s good, dearie. Means your heart is healing.”

Izuku nodded back with a wobbly smile. “Hound Dog?” he whispered.

Recovery girl beamed back at him. “Hound Dog,” she affirmed, “You sit here dearie, I’ll send him in.”

The door cracked open a few minutes later, and Hound Dog padded in, quiet for someone so big.

Izuku’s fingers twitched where they sat curled on the blanket. His voice, when it came, was soft as breath.

"I don't understand."

Hound Dog didn’t scoff. Didn’t flinch. He just eased down into the chair beside him.

"Trauma’s like that, pup."

"I... I guess I just wasn't ready. But I didn't even know I needed to be ready. Ready for what? I am just so confused."

Hound Dog nodded once, slow. Not agreement, exactly- acknowledgement.

“Sometimes the first time feels safe, 'cause you're still in survival mode. It's later, when your guard’s down, when you think it’s over... that's when it sneaks back up.”

Izuku’s mouth twisted. "I... they took away my phone, and Mom's been asking me to keep off the news- I haven't even been in my bedroom since it happened... I guess..."

“Go on, pup.”

"I guess it's the first time I've seen him since then and..."

His breath hitched, and he hated that it did.

"Why wasn’t he smiling?" he whispered. "He always smiles. But he wasn’t. And I couldn’t breathe and Sensei was dying and Tsu wasn’t dust and he wasn’t smiling."

A long beat passed.

Then Hound Dog said, quiet and certain, “You weren’t seeing now , Izuku. You were back there . That day. That hour. That minute.”

He let it settle.

“And that smile? That was your lighthouse. Your safe signal.

And that time , you needed it- and you looked up- and it wasn’t there.”

Izuku’s eyes brimmed, but he didn’t look away. He was still shaking a little, but his hands had uncurling moments now, too.

“You did everything right, pup. You panicked because your body thought the storm was back. Not because you’re weak. Because it remembered.”

Hound Dog crouched by his desk, voice low and casual. “I heard you like analyzing heroes, pup.”

Izuku blinked up at him. “Um. Yeah…?”

“Great.” Hound Dog’s tail gave a slow, reassuring swish. “Then we’re just gonna take a walk. Got a room prepped next door with some footage for you to look at. That sound okay?”

Izuku hesitated. “Is this- um… is this about yesterday?”

“It’s about helping you feel safe again. That’s all.” He rose to full height, then offered one enormous, clawed hand. “If at any point it’s too much, just say the word. Or squeeze. We walk out, no questions asked.”

Izuku nodded slowly and took his hand.

The side room was quiet. Familiar, almost- it reminded him of the old analysis clubs he used to host for himself in middle school. Except…

His breath caught.

There was an All Might poster on the far wall- mid-pose, mid-laugh. And right by the laptop sat a tiny All Might figure , giving a plastic thumbs-up.

Izuku didn’t say anything.

Hound Dog just stood with him for a moment in the doorway. No pressure. Just presence.

Then Izuku inhaled through his nose, short and shaky, and stepped inside.

He sat down, cracked his knuckles out of habit, and hit play on the video.

It wasn’t All Might.

His Purple Highness displayed on the title screen, before clips of the Hero in action started. 

Izuku latched on like a lifeline.

“His quirk is… interesting,” he murmured, fingers twitching slightly. “He’s controlling the hair on his chest a lot like how Sensei uses his capture weapon. I wonder if they ever worked together…”

His eyes didn’t flick toward the poster. Not once.

“And it’s interesting- he loses control if the hair gets cut,” Izuku mumbled. “So his weakness is linked to the physical continuity of his medium...”

He kept going. Quiet, steady. Focused.

He didn’t look at the All Might figure.

And Hound Dog didn’t point it out.

At lunch he was pulled aside again.

“Hey kid,” Cementos said, voice rumbling like a slow landslide. “I know you’ve got some rock-solid friends- but we want to, uh… cement your safety net with a senpai.”

Before Izuku could fully process the pun or the situation, he was gently guided out of the cafeteria and into a small side room. The smell hit first- warm, savory, familiar. His favorite food was already waiting on a small table near the window, steam still curling up from the plate. It was even fried. He almost cried. 

Then he noticed the second tray.

A tray clearly not for him.

There were a few expected items- crab legs, octopus slices, a suspiciously glistening sea cucumber. But also…

“…Is that an armadillo shell?” Izuku asked slowly. “Stuffed with… is that dehydrated tarantula?!”

“Ah,” came a quiet voice from the corner. “Sorry. That’s mine.”

A third year was already in the room, half-hidden behind a potted plant and refusing to make eye contact.

“I- I know it’s weird. I didn’t mean to make it weird. That’s just, um. What sounded good today.”

Izuku blinked.

Then blinked again.

“Oh!” he said suddenly. "Is it for your quirk? I recognize you from last years Sports Festival! Your quirk is super cool! But I didn't see you in the sports festival before that even though you were a second year which is unusual but not unheard of! Did you transfer in from another school or-"

The third year shrank slightly, and Izuku realized he was being too much. "Ah! I am sorry! I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable! I am just a nervous talker and a nerd and I love quirks too much and-"

A gentle cough broke him out of his spiral. "Midoriya, meet Tamaki Amajiki he will be your senpai - he has come far in his past few years at UA and we think this will make a solid base for you to both build on." He gave Tamaki a small nod and rested a hand briefly on Izuku’s shoulder before leaving and easing the door shut behind him.

Tamaki-senpai ducked his head, one hand twitching like it wanted to disappear into the plant beside him.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “You’re not… too much. I just don’t usually talk before lunch.”

Izuku nodded rapidly. “Right, of course, sorry- do you need time to eat? I can just- wait outside until you- ”

Tamaki-senpai waved a hand, still not meeting his eyes. “No. It’s fine. They said… we were supposed to eat together. So. I came early. So I could get used to the room.”

Izuku blinked again. “Oh.”

Tamaki-senpai glanced up, brief but sharp. “I get overwhelmed too.”

It wasn’t said like a confession. More like… an offering.

Izuku’s heart softened. He pulled out the chair opposite Tamaki-senpai’s and sat carefully, like the whole moment might tip if he moved too fast.

“…Do you want to trade one of your tarantulas for some of my katsudon?” he asked.

Tamaki-senpai stared at him.

Then, shyly: “Maybe just a leg?” senpai said, offering one gently. 

The week felt both far too long and far too short.

The kind of week where you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop-

even while the first one is being picked up and gently placed on your foot.

Before he knew it, it was Friday.

And he was with Yagi-sensei for the first time all week.

The therapy room was warm and quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty- just soft around the edges. Izuku sat curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath him, fingers worrying the edge of his sleeve. The overhead lights were dimmed, and the faint scent of lavender clung to the air, probably from the diffuser Hound Dog sometimes used when things got hard.

He wasn’t crying. Not really. Just… tired.

Like all his feelings had gone through a shredder and he was still trying to tape them back together.

Across from him, Yagi sat in his smaller form, spine a little bent but eyes steady. He looked like he was holding something carefully in both hands- not a thing, but a moment. Something delicate. Something he didn’t want to break.

“I told them,” he said at last, voice rough but warm. “About mentoring you. About all of it.”

Izuku blinked up at him, startled. “You- ?”

Yagi gave a small nod. “Not about the spark. But everything else.”

Izuku opened his mouth. Closed it again.

His hands stilled in his lap.

“I was scared they’d think it was favoritism,” he said, so quiet it barely counted as sound.

“They appreciated us keeping it out of Heroics,” Yagi said gently. “Keeping the boundaries clear. But they needed to know our history- for you to heal.”

The words settled into Izuku’s chest like a warm weight.

Like a blanket that didn’t smother.

He reached out, hesitantly, and Yagi met him halfway- hand to hand. His fingers were big, knobby, a little callused, but safe.

Always safe.

They sat like that for a minute. Maybe two.

Then the door creaked open.

“Midoriya,” Hound Dog’s voice rumbled, deep and calm and just a little bit scratchy. “You ready for a test?”

Izuku startled slightly, looking toward the doorway. Hound Dog filled it like a cliffside- tall, steady, unmoved.

Hesitantly, Izuku took a shaky breath… and nodded.

Yagi stood slowly, bones clicking a little as he straightened. Then, with a familiar breath, he shifted.

The air shimmered-

And suddenly, he was there.

All Might.

But not the booming, poster-perfect version. Not the stadium god with a thousand-watt grin.

Just… All Might. Still gentle.

Still his.

He crouched in front of Izuku so they were eye to eye. Said nothing. Just waited.

Izuku looked at him for a long moment.

Then past him, to the open door.

Then back.

And remembered a day in the rain.

A clumsy joke about wet socks.

A hand on his head.

His throat tightened.

But he smiled.

“…I think I can do this,” he whispered.

All Might’s smile was quiet, but it reached all the way to his eyes.

Chapter Text

Cooking on a Budget was not a class Izuku had planned to take. But his senpai had recommended it, so here he was, awkwardly standing in the doorway of Kitchen C, nerves fluttering like a cloud of butterflies.

He’d never cooked anything beyond instant noodles before. The thought of boiling water used to stress him out. But he was trying to say “yes” more. Be braver, even outside combat. Be a bit like his senpai - not fearless, but moving anyway. 

Still, he hadn’t expected so many people .

The kitchen was already half full. At the front, Iida sat ramrod-straight next to Sato, who had somehow claimed a double burner setup and looked very much at home. Jiro and Shoji were tucked into a corner near the back, sharing a quiet space, Jiro absently spinning a ladle in her hand while Shoji read the packet of provided ingredients like it was a mission dossier.

Mid-room, Ashido was absolutely vibing , animatedly chatting with Kendo from 1-B. Kendo, in turn, was skillfully drawing in two other students: a blond girl with two horns and a girl with a brown bob who was delicately nibbling on a mushroom from their prep tray. 

Izuku hesitated. Most of the workstations were claimed already, and he was on the verge of resigning himself to awkward small talk with someone he didn’t know when-

There she was.

His emotional rock during these unpredictable, often way too social seminar electives: Yaoyorozu Momo.

She sat poised, already reviewing the handout Lunch Rush had left at each station, a thoughtful crease between her brows. She looked up just then and- smiled at him .

“Midoriya,” she said warmly. “Want to sit together?”

Relief crashed over him like a wave. He practically floated over, trying not to look too obvious about how grateful he was.

Izuku barely had time to sit down before the kitchen door slid open, and the soft clack of polished chef’s shoes echoed across the tile.

Lunch Rush entered in his pristine white coat, smiling like the world’s kindest anime uncle.

“Good afternoon, students,” he said. “Today’s lesson is about cooking like a hero- not just with heart, but with practicality. We’ll be making stir-fry: one pan, one burner, one dish, tailored for quirk-enhanced appetites and tight student budgets.”

He moved to the whiteboard and uncapped a marker with flair.

“Each pair has a budget of ¥500,” he said, writing the number at the top in bold. “Everything on the ingredient cart is labeled with a price- per piece, per scoop, or per gram. Plan wisely. Once you visit the cart, there are no returns and no second trips.”

A quiet gasp from the back.

Lunch Rush smiled gently. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone. I’ve structured the cart with flexibility in mind. Here are a few things to keep in mind when budgeting.”

He began listing, and Izuku started taking detailed notes.

Lunch Rush’s Hero Cooking Tips:

Protein priorities :
Tofu and egg are cheap and fast. Chicken gives a good yield. Beef and shrimp? High impact, high cost. Choose for taste and value.

Veggie versatility :
Carrots, cabbage, and bok choy go a long way. Mushrooms are flavorful but delicate. Bell peppers add color, but they cost more.

Flavor without sauces :
You’ll find garlic, onions, vinegar, soy sauce, and citrus on each table- free-use items . Premade sauces are available but cost yen.

Balance matters:
Think of stir-fry like a team battle- flavors need to complement each other, not crowd the pan.

Fillers: Rice and soba noodles:
Are available for free to bulk out the meal. Limited amount of soba noodles, larger amount of rice available.

“You’ll have 10 minutes to plan with your partner, then one trip to the cart. After that, it's you, a burner, and the brave sizzle of culinary destiny.”

Around the room, students were already leaning in to whisper and strategize.

Momo tapped her pencil twice, focused. “Midoriya, are there any ingredients you’d especially like to try?”

He thought about it a bit, biting his lip.  “U-uh… something colorful? I was thinking mushrooms, maybe- oh, and egg! Wait, is that- ?”

She smiled gently, grounding him with her voice. “Let’s start with that.”

“Tofu is a good protein, and egg - then we can have mushrooms,” she continued, “what else?”

“Maybe some carrots? Onion? And bok choy?”  He asked hesitantly.

“We can afford all that and mushrooms,” Momo said, checking the labeled bins, “if we just stick to half a carrot, or… we could skip them and double our egg and get the whole carrot.”

Izuku hesitated, eyes flicking between the bin of mushrooms and the row of eggs.

“Mushrooms are really umami,” he muttered, clearly torn. “But egg’s got protein, and you can do so much with it…”

“It depends on what you’re prioritizing,” Momo said gently. “Flavor or fuel.”

He winced like it was a moral dilemma. “I mean- what do you want?”

Momo considered it. “I think we’ll get more out of the egg, but- if you really want the mushrooms, I can make it work.”

Izuku looked at her, the way she was calmly offering him a real choice, not steamrolling or guilt-tripping him.

“...Let’s do the extra egg and the whole carrot,” he said. “But maybe we can ask Lunch Rush for a mushroom scrap. Just for garnish?”

Momo smiled. “Creative thinking. I like it.”

They returned to their station with their selection: tofu, two eggs, a whole carrot, a generous scoop of bok choy, half an onion- and, thanks to Izuku’s puppy eyes and Lunch Rush’s fond sigh, a single shiitake mushroom, sliced thin “for garnish.”

As they prepped, Momo moved with quiet efficiency. She broke down the bok choy into manageable sections, then began julienning the carrot with practiced precision. Izuku tried not to stare, but… He didn’t even know julienning meant making a carrot look like matchsticks, and somehow Momo was doing it like it was breathing.

“You’re really good at this,” he said before he could stop himself.

Momo paused mid-slice, blinking at him. “Oh- I’ve just practiced a bit. It’s not difficult, just muscle memory.”

“It’s more than that,” Izuku said, brow furrowed like he was solving a puzzle. “You pick the most efficient tool every time. You pace your cuts to match prep time. You’re… kind of amazing, actually.”

Color rose faintly to her cheeks. “I just try to stay organized,” she said, turning back to the cutting board. “It’s not particularly special.”

He opened his mouth to object- but her tone wasn’t dismissive. It was matter-of-fact. Like she genuinely didn’t see it.

So he just offered a quiet, “Well, I think it’s cool,” and started slicing the tofu as evenly as he could.

Behind them, a loud sizzle and a shouted “Oh no!” suggested Ashido had just learned what happens when you heat the pan before adding oil.

Momo didn’t look up.

They continued cooking and eventually Izuku portioned out a mound of rice from the shared cooker while Momo double-checked the flavor profile.

Lunch Rush clapped once, signaling the end of the cooking portion. “Time’s up! Let’s see what our kitchen heroes have created.”

As he moved around the room offering feedback, approving nods, and the occasional gentle tip- “Try cutting the tofu larger next time- it holds together better in the pan” he gave each pair a once over. 

When he got to Izuku and Momo he studied their dish for a long moment, then grunted approvingly at the lack of major disasters. “You’re cleared to use the student kitchens,” he said simply.

Once he was done looking over everyones dish he went back to the front.

“These prices weren’t arbitrary,” he said, jerking his chin toward the whiteboard still displaying the ¥500 budget. “They’re the same ones you’ll see posted in the student kitchens - if you were cleared to use them. Waste ingredients there, and you’ll be footing the bill.”

A few students sat up straighter.

Lunch Rush’s voice was matter-of-fact, not cruel. “Free doesn’t mean infinite. Learn that now, before you throw away half a chicken because you forgot to marinate it first.”

He then chuckled softly. “Cooking’s like hero work,” he added. “There’s always a cost for carelessness. Best to keep it low.”

The only thing Izuku was still worried about… was that Momo still didn’t seem to see how awesome she was.

He made a quiet promise to remind her.

Izuku brought his portion of stir-fry to the usual table to catch up with his friend's mornings. “Oooh! That looks good!” Dark Shadow chimed in, “I didn’t see them offering stir-fry for lunch! Fumi-nii why didn’t you get us stir-fry?

Tokoyami gave a low sigh, settling his tray of standard cafeteria fare across from Izuku. “Because it was not on the menu , ” he intoned.

Dark Shadow narrowed her eyes suspiciously at his tray. “But it’s Tuesday. Stir-fry is a Tuesday food.”

“It is not Tuesday,” Tokoyami replied, unphased. “It is Saturday.”

She blinked, utterly scandalized. “But that’s too many letters! ”

Izuku choked on a laugh, quickly covering his mouth with one hand as he set down his tray with the other. “You can have a bite of mine if you want,” he offered, nudging the bowl toward her a little.

Dark Shadow gasped dramatically. “Zumies, are you proposing right now?”

Tokoyami didn’t even look up. “He is not.”

Ochako snorted into her drink. “How was Acting with Midnight?”

“Ah! I actually did Cooking with Lunch Rush -  I was surprised you weren’t there- ” Izuku began, only for the lights to cut out mid-sentence.

A single spotlight flared to life, illuminating a narrow stage door.

“In a snow-swept village where thread was worth more than food,

a man saved a crane with an arrow in its wing.”

Hitoshi’s voice echoed from overhead, low and even, just slightly bored. The crowd quieted.

The play was short and simple -  just enough to charm the crowd and still give the cast time to eat -  but full of little delights. Izuku couldn’t help his giggles when Monoma burst into the scene with a flourish:

 “Oh? Ohhhh? A woman? In YOUR hut? Just appeared , did she?!”

Dark Shadow curled protectively around his shoulders and started poking his cheek with a sushi roll until he stopped giggling and resumed eating.

As the final narration faded and the lights rose, the conversation resumed like it had never paused.

“So,” Dark Shadow said, mouth full of rice, “why’d you pick the foodie course, Zumies?”

“Ah!” Izuku blinked, then rubbed the back of his neck. “My new senpai recommended it,” he said, cheeks turning a little pink. “So I thought I might try it…”

Of course, that was the exact moment Hitoshi arrived at the table with his own tray -  and Monoma just happened to be walking by, glowing from his dramatic performance and clearly still riding the high.

Monoma stopped short, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, you have a senpai now,” he said, as if delivering a tragic monologue. “How disgustingly sweet .”

He swept one hand across the air in a dramatic arc. “And of course you just have to continue making it all about you, don’t you? Some of us have had senpais from the start , but no no -  let’s hold the press, declare a national holiday, rename U.A. to Midoriya Academy because you have a senpai now.”

Izuku groaned and buried his face in his arms. “…He just helped me sign up for the seminar…”

Monoma scoffed. “Whatever you say, Mr. Hero,” and with a haughty swish of his coat, he stalked off.

The lights were low, the floor pulsing with LED strips, and the bassline of a pop remix practically made the walls vibrate. Gym Z had been transformed into a neon fever dream, complete with fog machines, glow bracelets, and one genuinely enormous disco ball.

Present Mic stood at the front, decked out in a neon windbreaker and mirrored sunglasses, pumping a fist in time with the music.

“ALRIGHT, Y’ALL!” he shouted into his headset mic, voice sliding across the beat like butter on a hot skillet. “Welcome to Dance Dance Partylution- the only revolution where your footwork is your battle cry and sweat is your warpaint! Let’s move, groove, and heal those hero hearts!”

The crowd of students gave a cheer, some more enthusiastic than others. Ashido was already glowing- literally, thanks to some kind of glitter gel- while Jirou had claimed a corner near the speakers and was bobbing along with her arms crossed. 

Kirishima leaned against the wall, scanning the room like he was expecting someone to walk in.

He shook his head, mostly to himself. “Kinda wish Bakugo came,” he muttered.

Izuku, standing nearby, caught the words but didn’t comment. His shoulders went a little tight.

Kirishima noticed. “Not sayin’ anything, man. Just... he was solid during that Rubble to Rescue thing. Like, really solid. This”- he gestured to the pulsing lights and half-chaotic dance floor- “might’ve been good for him.”

Izuku didn’t meet his eyes, but after a beat, he gave a quiet nod. “Yeah. I get that.”

That was enough. Kirishima clapped his shoulder once- light, friendly, not pushing it- and peeled off toward the snack table.

Tokoyami stood stoically, arms crossed. “Midoriya,” he started before being cut off -

“ZUUUUUMIES!”

Dark Shadow let out a cackle and dove across the dance floor like a living shadow comet, and exasperated Tokoyami being dragged along. Before Izuku could blink, her inky claws swung back and hauled him across the floor too. 

“Wha- Dark Shadow?! Wait! Tokoyami, uh- ?”

“I was going to warn you,” Tokoyami said calmly, though his eyes twitched faintly.

Dark Shadow spun Izuku in a wild circle, shrieking with joy. “You smell like cinnamon and sweat and sunshine!” she giggled, and then accidentally knocked over a pile of glow sticks in her enthusiasm.They danced for a few minutes, Izuku’s only starting to get used to the rhyme when suddenly- 

“ MIDORIYA! ”

Izuku turned.

Monoma Neito, in all his self-declared glory, was strutting toward him with a determined glint in his eye and glitter in his hair.

“I hereby challenge you,” Monoma said, pointing dramatically, “to a dance off. To reclaim my honor from the DDR Incident.”

Izuku blinked. “Wait, that was, like… two weeks ago- ?”

“ Honor, Midoriya! ”

Present Mic raised an eyebrow. “OHHHHHHH SNAP, IT’S HAPPENING!” he cried into the mic. “CALL THE SCHOOL COUNSELOR, ‘CUZ THESE BOYS GOT ISSUES TO RESOLVE WITH THEIR HIPS.”

A loose circle formed around them. Izuku stepped awkwardly into place, cheeks glowing green.

He tried. He really did. But Izuku’s version of dancing looked like he was either dodging invisible bees or about to faint from oxygen loss. Monoma absolutely ate him alive on flair alone.

Then- 

“Did someone say DANCE OFF ?”

Mina Ashido elbowed her way through the crowd, already shimmying.

“Sweetie, sit down. I’m here to save the aesthetic.”

She didn’t wait for a response. The lights seemed to gravitate toward her as she moved- hips fluid, arms sharp, every beat hitting like a superpowered punch of rhythm. Even Jirou uncrossed her arms to nod in approval.

Monoma dramatically fake-swooned. “Foiled again by 1A scum.”

Izuku stumbled back to the edge of the circle and collapsed next to Tsu and Ochako. He was grinning, sweaty, and slightly mortified.

“That was... something,” Ochako said, offering him a water bottle.

“I think I nearly died,” Izuku wheezed.

From the DJ booth, Present Mic nodded once. A sly grin and a finger gun directed at Izuku who smiled back then downed the water.

The music kept playing.

And the Partylution raged on.

Chapter Text

Izuku wasn’t shaking this time.

That was the first thing he noticed. His fingers weren’t clenched in his sleeves. His breath came steady, not sharp or spiraling. He stood at the edge of Gym Beta- just a few steps from All Might- and he was… okay.

Last week, he’d barely made it through the doors.

But today, the gym was quiet. No explosions. No crowd. No pressure to perform.

Just a voice, calm and steady: “Today, we walk.”

Izuku almost laughed.

The gym was dressed up like a city street at dusk, lit low and warm, with cardboard citizens posed along fake stoops and alley corners. The scaffolding in the back doubled as fire escape and obstacle course. A few fake traffic lights blinked yellow.

It was… peaceful. Even kind of silly.

And maybe that’s why Izuku’s shoulders felt a little less tense as he watched Iida take his turn, moving at a brisk but respectful “patrol” pace. There were no timers. No points. Just presence.

When his name was called, Izuku stepped forward.

Not perfectly. Not bravely.

But without panic.

Just… presence.

At first, Izuku had tried to copy what he remembered from pro footage. The way Mirko led with her chest. The bounce in Ingenium’s heels. Hawks, somehow always in motion even when standing still.

But halfway through his second loop, something changed. He stopped pretending.

The calm patrol run felt less like mimicry and more like… awareness. He noticed how his boots landed. How his shoulders sat a little higher when he wasn’t hunched around his thoughts. During “citizen engagement,” he nodded to a cardboard grandma on a porch like it was the most natural thing in the world. He even smiled. Not because he was supposed to- because he wanted to.

When “high-speed rescue” was called, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t freeze. He moved. Fast. Confident. Not perfect, but- his momentum didn’t come from panic. It came from him.

And when it ended, when he was walking back toward the edge of the course, his chest buzzing with something like satisfaction, he heard it.

“Hmm,” All Might said softly. “You’re standing taller, Young Midoriya.”

Just that.

Not a shout. Not a spectacle.

But it was enough to make Izuku’s breath catch a little in his throat.

He hadn’t realized he was.

Tuesday with Principal Nezu was something he never expected from teachers, even ones as awesome as those at U.A.

The Principal had seemed agitated, tail swishing sharply behind him.

“Let’s begin with a case study,” he said, climbing onto the desk. “A licensed Pro Hero- high-visibility, long-standing career, strong rescue record- shows up to supervise a basic field exercise.”

Click. The screen lit up, blurry footage showing the gym where they usually played Quirkless tag.

“Within minutes,” Nezu continued, voice sharpening, “this Hero begins mocking the exercise, belittling the participants’ pasts, and behaving unprofessionally- using sharp, hurtful nicknames.”

Izuku’s stomach twisted.

No need to imagine. He remembered.

Oh! It’s the suicidal pencil kid!

Death Arms had laughed- laughed - in front of the whole class. Like it was nothing. Like it was a joke they could all share.

“So.” Nezu’s voice broke the silence again. “Question one: how should we respond?”

He let it hang. Not rhetorically- he wanted real answers.

Iida’s hand shot up in perfect posture.

Kirishima was the one Nezu called on.

“Hold your ground?” he offered.

“Holding your ground can work,” Nezu said, tail flicking once more, “but if there’s a power imbalance, that can cause further harm. You need to be aware of your tools, your platform, protection, and autonomy.”

He turned toward the screen again.

“For instance,” he said with a razor-toothed grin, “while you are in good standing at this school- you have me.”

The room went still.

“My standard go-to,” Nezu continued lightly, “is a three-year sensitivity course before said hero can engage with my school in any way.”

His beady eyes swept across the class and seemed to linger on Izuku.

“Question two. Why?”

Momo raised her hand, slow and thoughtful.

“Yes, Yaoyorozu-san?” Nezu prompted.

She paused a beat, collecting her thoughts. “Because the students involved will no longer be here after three years.”

“That is part of it,” Nezu said, nodding.

She frowned faintly, then added, “It also proves sustained growth. That the Hero deserves another chance.”

Nezu’s tail settled. “Exactly so.”

He looked out across the classroom, expression still serious.

“And question three. Why is it so important for me to inform you all of this policy?”

Izuku raised his hand a little tentatively.

“Yes, Midoriya-kun?”

“Because one day we’ll be Heroes in charge of our own organizations and we’ll need to set policies?” he asked, unsure.

Nezu nodded. “That is part of it. Bakugo-san- do you know the other part?”

The only student with their hand still raised.

“Because it’s fucking good for the targets to know they’re safe,” Bakugo said, low and steady.

Nezu was quiet for a beat.

Then he nodded. “Exactly.”

The room stayed silent for a moment longer.

Izuku exhaled slowly, the words echoing in his chest.

Wednesday was supposed to be physical training with Aizawa, but he was still too injured to teach such a movement-heavy class.

Instead, they had Snipe-sensei subbing in.

At first, they were sent to run laps.

As Izuku was finishing his sixth, Snipe tipped his hat back and squinted down at the track.

“Midoriya,” he called, no urgency in his voice. “C’mere a sec.”

Izuku slowed to a jog, then a walk. His breathing came easy.

“Something wrong?”

“Nah,” Snipe said, hitching his thumbs in his belt. “Just heard you’ve been treatin’ your quirk like it’s made of glass.”

Izuku blinked. “Uh- I was told to keep it at 2%.”

Snipe gave a low hum. “Mm. You’ve had it there six weeks now. I’d say it’s time you pushed a little.”

“Yes, Sensei!” Izuku said quickly. “Uh- did you want me to try now? It’s just, we’re doing physical training instead of quirk work this week, and Aizawa-sensei isn’t here if something goes wrong, and I think Recovery Girl is still mad at me from the other week and- ”

A paintball splattered against the shoulder of his gym uniform. Snipe had already holstered his pistol.

“Breathe, kiddo,” he said, eyes smiling beneath the brim of his hat. “We’ll try it right here, just a spot. Go slow and steady, ya hear?”

Izuku nodded quickly and stepped back onto the track, swallowing his nerves.

He closed his eyes and reached inward, into the familiar green hum threaded through his muscles and bones.

Two percent. That was easy now. Natural. Like walking on solid ground.

He took a breath and dialed it up.

Three.

Four.

His fingers tingled. His heart fluttered once- not with panic, but memory.

Five.

It felt like too much air in his lungs, too much electricity in his joints. His teeth clenched on instinct. His shoulder gave a little twitch- just enough for Snipe to see it.

“Okay, partner,” Snipe said gently, already stepping closer. “Back it off a bit.”

Izuku nodded, jaw still tight, and let the pressure ebb- back to 3%, then 2. He exhaled hard.

“It’s... not like before,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“Nope,” Snipe agreed. “But you’ll get there. How far was that at the end?”

“Five,” he whispered.

Snipe nodded. “Keep it under that, then. But keep pushin’ yourself.”

Then he tipped his hat, and Izuku was sent back to finish his laps.

On Thursday they played some high stakes paintball

“Team Survival Simulation: Engage.”

The horn blared.

Izuku bolted into motion, already tracking Pony’s footsteps behind him and mentally counting her balloons: three, floating slightly higher than his thanks to her horns. Their squad fanned out- Kendo taking center, Shoji scouting left, and Kodai subtly enlarging debris to block off side corridors behind them.

The gym’s ruined-city terrain felt like something out of a movie: busted streets, crooked stop signs, an overturned trolley on fire for some reason- probably Kaminari’s fault.

Eight teams of five. Three balloons per person. Last full team standing wins. Respawns of one balloon per five minutes in the safe zone- but only if a teammate drags you there.

Izuku ducked under a jagged awning, heart racing. This wasn’t just a quirk battle- it was tactics under pressure, with target markers literally bobbing above everyone’s heads. Vulnerabilities on full display.

He scanned rooftops- no movement. That meant either stealth types were active or…

“Watch high,” he whispered. “Team Ember Spiral has Uraraka and Monoma-  they might take vertical advantage.”

Pony nodded. “I try cover blind spots. Just say word.”

Shoji crackled on the team comms: “Contact, 11 o’clock. Team Crimson Bolt. Moving fast.”

A burst of laughter echoed two streets over, then the unmistakable POP of a balloon rupturing.

“Team Gold Fang lost one!” Monoma crowed from somewhere nearby.

Izuku grit his teeth. He crouched behind a rusted bus, scanning the rooftops nearby for orange balloons. His own green balloons bobbed gently- still intact. 

“Midoriya,” Kendo said softly over their channel, “you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He was.

Let Monoma talk. Let him draw attention. Let everyone else burn energy. We’ll pick the finish.

“Hold until Pony confirms aerial,” Izuku whispered.

Pony crouched near a shattered window. “Two Gold on one. Explode boy mad. What plan?”

“Let them draw focus.” Kendo cut in, “We flank left, set up ambush perimeter.”

And then- paint exploded just behind Kodai.

POP. Shoji was hit. Once.

He waved them off. “Still in. Just a lucky shot,” he said, raising one hand before firing two shots, his multi-limbs operating multiple paintball guns in perfect coordination.

POP. POP. 

He hit Hagakure twice who was still stuck with her gym uniform. 

Over comms, Snipe’s voice cut through the buzz.

“Four teams have lost members. Play smart, kids. Remember: teamwork beats showboating.”

Izuku exhaled. One step at a time. Every move is calculated. Every breath counted.

Breathe, kiddo.

He almost smiled.

Then- another balloon popped.

Not his.

Not his teams. 

But close.

“Pony, take out the stragglers” Izuku breathed into the coms as he ran.

Before he knew it, Friday was upon him once more. 

“Today we’ll be taking a break from Quirkless Tag,” Thirteen-sensei announced cheerfully. “You’ve all been doing great!” They beamed beneath their helmet. “But between Hawks turning it into Quirked Tag and… the disaster from last week, well- ” they poked their gloved fingers together, sheepish, “it was decided maybe a break was due.”

The back wall of Gym Z rumbled and slid open.

Behind it stretched the wrecked cityscape they’d just played paintball in the day before.

Wait- Gym Z and Gym Gamma are next to each other?  

“We will be doing a rescue simulation,” Ectoplasm-sensei said, stepping forward with his usual sharp precision. “My clones are seeded throughout the zone, acting as civilians in need of rescue. Be careful. If you treat them too roughly, they’ll break- just like real civilians might.”

Then Thirteen-sensei took over again, tone bright as a whistle. “You can use your quirks- or not- but every clone you destroy is a negative ten from your score!” They lifted a finger dramatically. “And that ice cream party? I’ll throw a mini one for the three students with the highest rescue scores! Good luck, herolings!”

That ice cream, shared with Ochako and Iida as they walked to the train station, was the sweetest thing he’d ever had.

Ochako had picked strawberry shortcake swirl- bright pink and flecked with golden cookie crumbs. She offered bites to both of them without hesitation.

Iida had gone with something called Blue Morality - a deep blueberry-vanilla fusion that tasted way more intense than it looked. He’d ordered it like it was a serious decision but still let them each try a spoonful.

Izuku, without even thinking, had picked salted caramel fudge- the same flavor his mom always used to get when he was little. It melted fast in the warm spring air, and he had to lick his wrist twice to keep it from running down his arm.

He hadn’t even realized Iida went to the same station as them. But the guy was actually pretty cool once he wasn’t citing the rulebook at you.

Chapter Text

Saturday came with an opportunity for a field trip. Not a nerve-wracking USJ disaster- just a normal visit to the aquarium. At least… hopefully.

It was optional though, and his first surprise was when Kirishima told the group he wasn’t going. 

“You not coming?” Izuku asked, surprised at Kirishima’s words as they met at the entrance to UA. 

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah, think I’ll stick around. There’s… someone I wanna talk to more. Get to know better.”

Izuku blinked. Kirishima wasn’t looking at him, but he didn’t have to. Izuku got it.

He nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Kirishima gave a quiet grin. “But hey- bring back pictures of the sharks for me, yeah?”

Izuku smiled. “Only if you promise not to let the someone you’re getting to know blow anything up.”

Kirishima laughed. “No promises. But I’ll try.”

Izuku waved as he got on the bus, putting his UA Badge in his hoodie for safekeeping. 

The jellyfish room was quiet, bathed in soft lavender and blue. Panels of curved glass surrounded them, filled with slow, pulsing drifts of translucent creatures- each one glowing faintly like a living nightlight.

Izuku stood with his nose almost pressed to the glass, mouth slightly open. “They’re... amazing,” he whispered. “They don’t even have brains or hearts, but they’ve been floating through the oceans for millions of years. Just… existing.”

“They’re kind of like clouds made of moonlight,” Ochako said, tipping her head as one long-tentacled bell swirled by. “With a side of doom.”

“Poetic and deadly,” Tokoyami murmured, nodding approvingly. “Respect.”

Dark Shadow let out a soft, unfamiliar cooing sound. She curled lazily around Tokoyami’s shoulder and extended part of herself up to the glass, mirroring the floating jellyfish with exaggerated sways. “They look like they’re dancing... but sleepy. Like bedtime ballerinas.”

Something shifted in the corner of his vision. A blazer sleeve caught the ripple of colored light, suspended just so- weightless, angled oddly.

Izuku blinked, then smiled.

“Hagakure?”

The sleeve twitched. Just a little. Her blazer hung oddly- like she was leaning forward hard against the tank, probably with her nose pressed to the glass. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

He stepped a little to the side so he wouldn’t block her view. “You like this room, huh?”

A nod. Or maybe just a subtle shift of fabric, but he read it as a yes.

“They're quiet,” he said softly, watching a jellyfish drift by upside down. “But they light everything up.”

Izuku reached out and tapped his phone quickly, snapping a photo of the glowing jellyfish. “Think we should send these to Aizawa-sensei? He strikes me as a jellyfish guy.”

Ochako barked a laugh. “Oh my god, he totally is. Quiet. Soft but scary. Glows under stress.”

“Don’t let him hear that,” Tokoyami warned.

Izuku smirked, already composing the text to the number Sensei had given him when he was elected Class President. “Too late.”

Dark Shadow hummed, her tone thoughtful now. “Hey Zumies... do you think if I glowed a little, I’d look like a jellyfish?”

“You already glow when you’re happy,” Izuku said without thinking.

She froze.

So did Tokoyami.

Ochako blinked, then smiled slow. “That was… kinda smooth, Zumies.”

Izuku turned bright red. “I- I meant literally! Her edges get all- shimmery when she’s excited! That’s not- !”

“Glowy and bashful,” Dark Shadow whispered. “Yes. I am a jellyfish.”

Tokoyami sighed. “I take it back. These creatures are chaos incarnate.”

They passed through a hallway of coral tanks and emerged into a wide, shallow room lined with rock-shaped pools. A tidepool touch exhibit. Ochako lit up.

“Oooh, I love these,” she said, hurrying forward to dip her fingers in the water.

“Gentle touch,” Tokoyami intoned, reading the sign aloud. “The sea cucumber does not consent to rough handling.”

Dark Shadow was already nosing around the edge of the tank. “OooOOOoooh, squishy!”

Tokoyami didn’t even look over. “Dark Shadow. Gentle. Touch.”

She immediately retracted her arm a few inches and whispered, “Sorry. Respectful squish.”

Ochako leaned over another tank and let out a delighted giggle. “Guys! This one’s full of hermit crabs!”

Izuku followed her, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Careful- don’t scare them. They’re really sensitive to vibration.” He crouched to get a better angle, eyes scanning the sand. “I think I saw a study where they use their antennae to detect- wait, that’s a decorator crab! Look at the little kelp on its back!”

He leaned in closer, but one foot slid on the damp floor..

“Ah-!”

Ochako grabbed his arm instinctively, laughing. “Careful, Zumies.”

“I’m fine!” he said quickly, bracing himself on the tank’s edge. “Just- oh wow, that is a sea urchin. Purple ones have-”

His hand bumped the rim a little too fast.

Something slipped from his hoodie pocket.

Plop.

Izuku stared in horror at the rippling water. “Wait- no no no-!”

He lunged instinctively, plunging his arm in without hesitation. Water surged up his sleeve to the elbow.

Ochako yelped and grabbed his hoodie before he could go headfirst into the tank.

Dark Shadow whooped like it was a sporting event. “HE GOES FOR THE SAVE! A PERFECT ENTRY!”

“Tragedy,” Tokoyami said flatly, not even blinking. “Utter disregard for the sacred squish code.”

Izuku straightened, soaked but triumphant, clutching his now-dripping badge in one hand like it was a medal of honor.

“It’s laminated,” he gasped, chest heaving. “But Aizawa-sensei would end me if I lost it.”

At the shark tunnel, Izuku held up his phone, carefully angling it so the shark behind the glass lined up just right with Dark Shadow’s goofy mid-air pose.

She gasped as a massive shark swam past and matched its motion in exaggerated mimicry. “Teach me your secrets, fish lord,” she whispered with reverent awe- then made chomping noises immediately after.

“Okay- okay, now snarl again, like you’re about to EAT IT- yes! Perfect!” Click . Another photo. And another. He giggled. “Kirishima’s gonna love these.”

“Zumies,” Dark Shadow intoned dramatically, swooping around in slow circles, “tell Shield-nii I am officially queen of the sharks. No. Empress.”

“Sharkpire?” Ochako offered with a snort.

“ YES. Sharkpire Dark Shadow the First!” She wiggled happily “Feared across seven oceans! Protector of the Cool and Defender of Chomp!”

Behind her, a particularly large shark glided ominously close to the glass. She gasped and immediately mimicked its movement, side-eyeing it in challenge.

Tokoyami stood just off frame, arms folded. “This is a mistake,” he muttered, “a deep and fishy mistake.”

“I’m gonna send the whole set to Kirishima once we get out of the tunnel,” Izuku said, smiling as he scrolled through the photos. “He’ll be sad he missed this.”

“He made a sensible choice,” Tokoyami replied darkly, even as Dark Shadow put bunny ears behind him.

Izuku just grinned and snapped a photo of the ears, then another where Dark Shadow looked like she was wrestling a hammerhead midair. “Yeah, but now he gets this , so I think it worked out.” He started scrolling through the photos when he noticed - “GUYS! Look! It’s Gang Orca in this one!”

A deep voice intoned from behind him, resonant and unshakable.

“Indeed, young ones.”

Everyone turned.

Gang Orca stood like a monolith at the end of the tunnel, massive arms folded, white tie immaculate even in the aquarium’s dim blue light. The sharks behind the glass seemed to part respectfully as he approached, as if aware they were no longer the apex here.

Dark Shadow audibly gasped. Tokoyami looked heavenward.

“Whoa,” Ochako whispered. “Did he just materialize out of saltwater mist?”

Gang Orca stepped forward with slow gravity, flippers clasped behind his back. “The shark,” he began solemnly, “is often misunderstood. Regarded as a villain of the deep. But in truth, they are guardians of balance. Efficient. Focused. Honorable.”

Izuku nodded rapidly, eyes wide. “I read a study that said sharks keep coral reefs healthy by managing fish populations- ”

Gang Orca raised a hand and Izuku stopped mid-babble, nearly vibrating.

“They do not waste. They do not boast. They endure. Many species have survived extinction-level events.” He turned slightly, his silhouette backlit by blue-green light. “To study them is to study quiet strength. And the power of restraint.”

There was a beat of reverent silence.

Then- 

“I love him,” Dark Shadow whispered, clutching Tokoyami’s cloak.

“Same,” Ochako said.

Tokoyami closed his eyes. “Please don’t propose marriage again.”

“It wasn’t me last time! It was Zumies!”

Gang Orca’s head tilted slightly. He paused, before intoning  “I do not think I want to know.”

Dark Shadow flared her arms wide. “Sir! Permission to join your Shark Order of Silent Bite!”

“You have… potential,” Gang Orca said gravely. “Keep learning, and be the best heroes you can.” Then he was gone again as if he had dematerialized out of ‘saltwater mist.’

Ah . Izuku thought. I didn’t get to ask for an autograph.

Chapter Text

The week leading up to the Sports Festival was… intense.

“Normal Heroics classes are suspended until after the festival,” Aizawa announced during homeroom, barely looking up from his sleeping bag. “All A-to-Z gyms will be open for practice. Do not enter the Greek gyms- they’re closed. Teachers will have posted schedules for when they’ll be in specific gyms. You’re expected to manage your own development.”

He sighed like the next part physically pained him.

“…Other courses will have access to the gyms, too. Play nice, or you’ll be stuck here with me during training time.”

A beat.

“Don’t make me lose my nap time.”

Izuku had been hopeful they could all train together. The Sports Festival usually included at least one team event, and it would’ve been nice- cool, even- to work with his friends.

Sadly, it was not to be.

“Sorry, bro,” Kirishima said with a sheepish shrug. “I promised I’d go train with Bakugo. And, uh… yeah. Probably not the best idea for you two to train together.” He clapped Izuku on the shoulder, then added with a grin, “We can team up tomorrow though!” With a thumbs-up, he headed for Gym X.

Then Tokoyami stepped forward. “Dark Shadow seeks your luminosity,” he said gravely, “but her shadows are abstracted in your glow.” He turned and swept off toward Gym Z, where Thirteen was scheduled to teach a hand-to-hand seminar.

Izuku turned hopefully to his remaining friends- only to see the look in Ochako’s eyes.

“Izuku,” she said, using his actual name for perhaps the first time since they’d met, “I want to beat you. So don’t you dare follow me!”

Then she marched off after Tokoyami toward Gym Z.

“I guess it’s just you and me, then,” Izuku said, turning to Shinso.

Shinso tugged his hoodie tighter, expression unreadable. “I was thinking of skipping the Sports Fest,” he said. “Planning on going underground anyway. Doesn’t really matter, right?”

He paused. The silence stretched- too long.

“…But I can’t,” he added, voice low but steady. “I need those assholes from middle school to see me in the spotlight. To know I’m a hero now- and they can’t stop it.”

Izuku exhaled, a little too visibly. “Oh thank god. We can train together and I don’t have to give a speech.”

Shinso blinked. “What?”

“Ah,” Izuku said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “You were first in the entrance exam. I was second. The first-year rep always comes from the top scorer.”

“…Shit.” Shinso glanced at the doors to Gym A like he was seriously considering the logistics of time travel. “And I already turned in my permission slip.”

It wasn’t the flashiest gym, but it had plenty of mats, targets, and- crucially- a foam ball dispenser, which Izuku eyed like a kid in a candy store.

“So… what’s your plan?” Shinso asked, tugging off his hoodie and stretching out his arms with a grimace. “If this is where I die, I want to know why.”

Izuku grinned sheepishly, already rifling through the foam ball bin. “I’m trying to keep my power at four percent. Sustain it more naturally, not just in bursts. I figured aiming at a moving target might help.”

Shinso arched a brow. “And I’m the target.”

“Only if you want to work on agility and spatial reads,” Izuku said quickly. “I’ll throw slow.”

“Don’t throw slow,” Shinso said, cracking his neck. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing this. I’ve got a festival full of cocky jerks to outperform.”

Izuku lit up in green lightning. “Okay! Let’s start at ten meters. If I tag you three times in a row, we switch. You get a turn throwing.”

Shinso looked at the bucket of foam balls like it had insulted his ancestors. “No, you keep throwing. If I get tagged too much we will move back further, if I survive for too long without getting tagged we’ll move closer.”

Izuku nodded, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Got it. Ten meters to start.”

He adjusted his stance and activated his spark- just four percent. Just enough. The familiar crackle of green lightning flickered around his limbs as he tossed a foam ball from hand to hand, testing the weight.

Shinso dropped into a loose stance on the other side of the mat. No formal training, just instinct, tension, and a whole lot of stubbornness.

“You ready?” Izuku called.

“No,” Shinso said flatly. “Do it anyway.”

The first throw whizzed past Shinso’s shoulder.

The second nearly caught his knee.

The third? Dead center on his chest.

“Alright, moving back,” Shinso said, already trudging toward the far wall.

Izuku blinked. “Wait, you just got tagged once.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to know what three in a row feels like.”

They kept going like that for nearly an hour- Izuku refining his control, Shinso dodging like his middle school tormentors were watching live. They settled into a rhythm: tag. Adjust. Tag, Banter. Repeat.

At one point, Shinso caught a ball mid-air, looked at it, sighed, and tossed it back with exaggerated apathy. “This training is biased.”

“You volunteered!” Izuku laughed, bouncing in place as green arcs shimmered around him. “Plus, you're dodging way better than when we started!”