Chapter Text
That evening, their little apartment buzzed with a joy it hadn’t known in years. Inko cooked Izuku’s favorite dinner, fluffy omurice, and the three squeezed themselves around the kitchen table, laughter spilling out into the hallway. After dessert, Izuku practically bounced with excitement.
“Dad! You have to see what I’ve been working on!” He led Hisashi to the garage, which was more parts warehouse than workspace now. Towers of old motherboards, half-built gadgets, and notebooks covered every surface. Izuku grabbed a battered lunchbox and flipped it open, revealing a tangle of wires and blinking LEDs.
“This is my portable power bank! And over here’s a sensor I rigged from a broken camera and some scrap!” Hisashi knelt down, eyes wide as Izuku rattled off explanations, his hands flying as he demonstrated each invention. Pride welled in Hisashi’s chest, but it was tinged with worry as he glanced around the cramped, cluttered space. Izuku’s genius was outgrowing their home.
That night, after Izuku had finally fallen asleep, Hisashi called a family meeting in the kitchen. Inko sat beside him, worry etched in her brow.
“I saw how little space Izuku has to work,” Hisashi said, voice gentle but firm. “He needs room to build, to create. I think it’s time we look for a bigger place, a real home where he can let his mind run wild.”
Inko blinked, then nodded, tears shining in her eyes, not from worry, but hope. For the first time, the future felt bright and wide open.
Izuku, half-awake and eavesdropping from the hallway, grinned. Maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.
The next morning, the Midoriyas gathered around the breakfast table, excitement lingering in the air. Hisashi pulled out a city map and a stack of real estate flyers. “Alright, team,” he said, grinning, “it’s time for an upgrade.”
House-hunting became a family adventure. Every weekend, they piled into the car, making a game of rating each place they visited. Izuku darted through echoing hallways and poked his head into empty garages, already imagining lab benches and shelves lined with gadgets.
Inko fussed over kitchens and sunny windows, while Hisashi measured every spare room, trying to picture how many inventions and blueprints could fit. There were days when nothing seemed right, too small, too dark, too expensive, but the family always went home laughing, dreaming about the next one.
After weeks of searching, they found it: a cozy, two-story house with a sprawling garage out back and a sunlit attic perfect for tinkering. The place needed work, but to Izuku, it looked like a blank canvas. When they got the keys, the three of them stood in the empty living room, grinning at each other, feeling like anything was possible.
That night, as Izuku unpacked his tools in his brand-new workspace, Inko and Hisashi watched from the doorway, arms around each other. Their son was building his future, and now, finally, he had the space to do it.
The day they moved was a blur of cardboard boxes, tangled extension cords, and laughter echoing through empty rooms. Inko directed the movers, Hisashi hauled boxes of parts, and Izuku darted back and forth, already mapping out where every tool and gadget would go in his new workshop.
Izuku’s heart raced as he set down the first box in the big, sunlit garage. For the first time, his workspace didn’t feel like a cramped closet or a borrowed corner. It was all his. The walls practically begged to be lined with whiteboards and shelves, and the wide windows promised warm afternoons spent inventing.
That night, after the last box was unpacked and the pizza boxes were stacked in the recycling, the Midoriyas curled up together on the living room floor. They didn’t have a couch yet, but they had each other, and that was enough.
Izuku’s eyes shone as he whispered, “Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad.”
Hisashi ruffled his hair and grinned. “Build the future you want, Izuku. We’ll always be right here, cheering you on.”
Inko wiped away happy tears and pulled them both close. In their brand-new home, surrounded by possibilities, the Midoriyas knew they could face whatever the world threw at them, together.
Bakugo was getting tired of losing face. It seemed like every time he challenged Izuku these days, his old tricks and bluster fell flat. Deku always had a new move, a crazy invention, or some clever setup waiting for him. So when he saw Izuku tinkering behind the gym after school, Bakugo marched over, determined to prove once and for all that brains were no match for raw explosive power.
It wasn’t long before Bakugo challenged Izuku to another fight, this time determined not to fall for any tricks. A crowd of students gathered, buzzing with anticipation. Even a couple of teachers lingered nearby, arms crossed, certain their golden boy Bakugo would finally put the “quirkless freak” in his place.
“Hey, Deku!” he barked, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s settle this. No more gadgets. No more tricks.”
Izuku just smiled, calm and unbothered. “Alright, Kacchan. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Bakugo sneered, keeping his distance. “I’m not falling for your gadgets this time, Deku.” His palms crackled with energy; muscles tense and ready.
Bakugo circled, wary now, eyes darting for any sign of a trap. He leapt in, palms sparking, but Izuku dodged, rolling aside and tossing out a handful of small, smooth spheres. Bakugo smirked, thinking he’d learned how to spot Izuku’s tricks by now. He stomped on one, expecting smoke or glue, but the sphere just bounced harmlessly away.
That was when the real trap triggered. As Bakugo lunged again, Izuku vaulted off a sphere with perfect balance, ricocheting over Bakugo’s head and landing lightly behind him. The spheres rolled and clicked, magnetically aligning to create an impromptu obstacle course that forced Bakugo to slow down and think or risk face-planting.
Bakugo growled, frustration building. He tried to detonate the spheres, but they absorbed the force, redirecting the blast into a harmless puff of glittering dust. The crowd that had gathered gasped.
Izuku didn’t taunt him, didn’t gloat. He just kept moving, using the spheres to vault, dodge, and weave, always one step ahead. By the end, Bakugo was panting, surrounded, realizing too late he had underestimated Deku again.
“Never the same trick twice, Kacchan,” Izuku said quietly, offering a hand up.
Bakugo slapped it away, but something in his glare had shifted. The crowd buzzed, half in awe, half in disbelief. Izuku had won, not through brute force, but by outthinking, outmaneuvering, and always, always staying unpredictable.
The students erupted. Some cheered for Izuku, startled but impressed. Others stared, uncertain, wondering if Bakugo was supposed to be unbeatable or if Deku was supposed to be nothing.
The teachers whispered among themselves, faces sour. They didn’t like what they were seeing, their star pupil outsmarted in front of the whole school by the kid they had written off. Some muttered about “unfair tactics,” others about “dangerous gadgets,” but everyone knew the truth: Bakugo lost, and Izuku had won with nothing but brains and nerve.
Bakugo stormed off, fists clenched, while Izuku quietly gathered his inventions. As he left, a few kids shot him looks of awe, others of envy. But Izuku only smiled to himself. He didn’t need everyone’s approval. Outthinking Bakugo and proving the teachers wrong was more than enough for today.
But Izuku barely had time to catch his breath before two teachers stormed over, faces red and stern. One of them pointed at Izuku, voice sharp enough to silence the lingering crowd.
“Midoriya! Principal’s office. Now,” she barked. “We need to discuss your behavior.”
Izuku blinked in confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”
The other teacher crossed his arms. “You know perfectly well. That wasn’t a fair match, and your gadgets are dangerous. You’re making a spectacle of yourself and bullying your classmates, especially Bakugo. This school doesn’t tolerate that.”
Izuku’s eyes widened. “Bullying? Me?” He looked around, incredulous. “Kacchan Bakugo is always the one who comes after me. I was just minding my own business, and he challenged me. Every time, it’s him trying to pick a fight.”
The teachers’ faces hardened, unwilling to back down. “That’s not how it looked to us. You humiliated Bakugo in front of everyone. You used unfair tricks, and now you’re making excuses. We won’t have a Quirkless student abusing loopholes to make our top performers look bad.”
Izuku’s jaw clenched, but he held his ground. “So, let me get this straight: I’m the bully because I defended myself? I’m not allowed to fight back or use my inventions just because I don’t have a Quirk?”
A tense silence followed. The teachers glared, not liking the way this “quirkless freak” was talking back. One finally snapped, “Enough. Go see the principal. We’ll be reporting your behavior—and your gadgets.”
Izuku’s fists tightened around his gadget bag, but he stood tall. “Fine. I’ll go. But I’m not going to let anyone call me a bully for fighting back.”
He walked off toward the principal’s office, chin high, refusing to let their words break him.
The principal’s office was stuffy and silent when Izuku arrived, the two teachers standing behind him like guards. The principal a porky, balding man with tired eyes looked up from his paperwork and sighed, already weary. “Midoriya, do you know why you’re here?”
Izuku nodded, voice steady. “Because I defended myself against Bakugo.”
The principal pursed his lips. “Your teachers say you humiliated Bakugo and used unauthorized inventions. That kind of behavior borders on bullying, young man. This school can’t allow students to disrupt order.”
Before Izuku could reply, the phone rang. The principal answered, nodded, and said in a clipped tone, “Send them in.”
A moment later, Inko and Hisashi swept into the room. Inko looked worried, but Hisashi’s eyes were sharp—dangerously calm. The principal barely finished his greeting before Hisashi cut him off.
“Let me get this straight,” Hisashi said, voice cool as steel, “you called us here because our son defended himself from a boy who’s been tormenting him for years?”
The principal stammered. “We… have reason to believe Izuku was the aggressor—”
Inko bristled, her tears replaced by fury. “Aggressor? My son is the one who comes home with bruises and broken things! Where were these concerns when Bakugo bullied him all these years?”
The teachers tried to jump in, but Hisashi shot them a glare that left them silent. “If you’re going to accuse my son of bullying, you’d better have proof. Because from everything I’ve seen, it’s Bakugo who needs discipline, not Izuku.”
The principal fumbled with his words, realizing he’d lost control of the meeting. “W-we just want to make sure everyone feels safe”
Hisashi leaned forward. “Then start by protecting the kid who’s been targeted for being different.” He stood, taking Izuku’s hand. “If I hear of another incident like this where the victim is punished for fighting back, I'll be talking to the Board of Education. Or maybe the press. Do you understand me?”
The room was silent, the adults cowed. Inko hugged Izuku fiercely, and the principal could only nod, realizing he’d made a serious mistake.
As the Midoriyas left, the staff exchanged uneasy glances. That day, everyone in Aldera Junior High learned: never underestimate a Midoriya especially when his family is behind him.
The day after the principal’s fiasco, the Midoriyas called the Bakugos to their home for a serious talk. Hisashi’s face was calm but unreadable as Inko set tea on the table. Katsuki slouched in his chair, eyes narrowed, already rehearsing his excuses. Mitsuki and Masaru watched with tight mouths, sensing the tension.
Before anyone could speak, Bakugo tried to get ahead of the narrative. “Nothing happened. Deku’s just making stuff up like always.”
But Hisashi just smiled slyly and produced a small feather-shaped gadget from his pocket. “Funny you say that, Katsuki. Because Izuku’s gear picked up everything.” He pressed play. The room filled with Bakugo’s threats, his sneers, and every cruel word he’d aimed at Izuku proof, clear as day.
Bakugo’s eyes widened in horror. Mitsuki’s face darkened.
It all spilled out then Katsuki’s anger, his resentment. “Why do you think you can be a hero, Deku? You’re a quirkless freak! I’m the real hero around here, and I’m just teaching you and all those nobodies their place! I’ll beat that damn nerd and show him he’s nothing!”
The temperature in the room spiked. Little wisps of smoke curled from Hisashi’s mouth, his eyes sharp and furious. For a second, he looked ready to breathe fire.
But before he could move, a resounding slap echoed through the room. Mitsuki’s hand stung as she glared at her son, who recoiled in shock. He’d never seen his mother look so livid, or his father so deadly serious.
Masaru’s voice was low and dangerous. “You are not to speak about or to Izuku like that ever again. Do you hear me, Katsuki?”
Katsuki nodded, stunned, fear finally flickering in his eyes.
“And you are grounded. For a long time,” Mitsuki added, her voice like steel.
She turned to the still-shocked Midoriyas and bowed deeply. “I’m truly sorry for my son’s behavior. We failed to realize how bad it had gotten. Please, forgive us.”
Hisashi was the first to respond, voice calm but firm. “Masaru, you and I have been friends for a long time. I don’t blame you—I blame the school for letting it get this far. But please, keep a closer eye from now on. Are we clear?”
Masaru met his gaze, earnest and regretful. “Crystal clear.”