Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku Midoriya had always known his life wasn't entirely his own.

When you were born into the Midoriya empire, a billion-dollar conglomerate that had its fingers in everything from real estate to technology, certain sacrifices were expected. Privacy was a luxury. Freedom was negotiable. And your future? Well, that was often decided in boardrooms long before you had any say in the matter.

But this? This was something else entirely.

"An arranged marriage," Izuku repeated slowly, staring at his father across the massive mahogany desk. The words felt foreign on his tongue, like something out of a period drama rather than his actual life. "You can't be serious."

Hisashi Midoriya didn't even look up from the contract he was reviewing, his reading glasses perched on his nose as he made notes in the margins with his fountain pen. "I'm always serious when it comes to business, Izuku. You know that."

"This isn't business. This is my life!"

"Your life is this business." His father finally looked up, his expression carved from stone. "Or have you forgotten that everything you have, everything you are, exists because of the Midoriya name?"

Izuku's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wanted to argue, to shout, to do something other than stand there like a helpless child. But his father was right, in the coldest, most pragmatic way possible. The Midoriya fortune had built the world around him, the penthouse apartment, the elite education, the security that followed him everywhere. All of it came with strings attached.

He just hadn't realized those strings were a noose.

"The Bakugos," Izuku said quietly, trying a different approach. "They're yakuza, aren't they?"

A flicker of something crossed his father's face. Amusement? Annoyance? Izuku wasn't sure. "They prefer the term 'traditional family business.' But yes, their operations are... less conventional than ours."

"Less legal, you mean."

"Legality is a matter of perspective and jurisdiction." Hisashi set down his pen with deliberate precision. "What matters is that the Bakugo family controls significant territory and resources throughout Tokyo and beyond. They have power where we have money. We have legitimacy where they have influence. It's a complementary arrangement."

"And I'm just the bargaining chip."

"You're the bridge between two empires." His father stood, buttoning his suit jacket as he moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the glittering Tokyo skyline. "Six months ago, we made an agreement with the Bakugo patriarch. A marriage alliance to cement our business relationship and mutual interests. It was understood that we would provide a suitable match for his son and heir, Katsuki Bakugo."

Izuku's stomach dropped. He knew what was coming next.

"They were expecting a daughter," he said flatly.

His father's silence was answer enough.

"Dad, I'm—I'm a man. Don't you think that's something you should have mentioned before promising me off like some medieval princess?"

"The agreement was made. The contracts were signed. The Bakugos have already begun making arrangements." Hisashi turned to face him, and for the first time, Izuku saw something almost like regret in his father's eyes. Almost. "If we back out now, they'll consider it a grave insult. And when the Bakugo family feels insulted, they don't simply walk away from business deals."

The implication hung heavy in the air between them.

"So either I marry their son, or..."

"Or we lose everything. Our partnerships will dissolve. Our assets will be frozen or seized. Every business rival we've ever made, and we've made many, will descend like vultures the moment they sense weakness." His father's voice was matter-of-fact, discussing the potential destruction of their empire with the same tone he'd use to review quarterly reports. "The Midoriya name will become synonymous with dishonor and broken promises. We'll be finished."

Izuku felt like he was drowning. "There has to be another way. We could explain—"

"Explain what? That we misled them? That we assumed they wouldn't care about the gender of their son's spouse?" Hisashi shook his head. "The Bakugos operate on old codes, Izuku. Honor, loyalty, tradition. They made this agreement in good faith. If we tell them now that we can't fulfill our end of the bargain, we're admitting we acted in bad faith from the start."

"But you did act in bad faith! You let them believe—"

"I let them assume. There's a difference." His father returned to his desk, picking up a manila folder and holding it out to Izuku. "This is your fiancé."

Izuku took the folder with trembling hands. Inside was a dossier that would have impressed any intelligence agency. Photographs, background information, psychological profiles, known associates. At the top was a picture of a young man around his own age, twenty-three, according to the file, with spiky blond hair and sharp red eyes that seemed to glare even through the photograph.

Katsuki Bakugo. Heir to the Bakugo Family. Known for his explosive temper. Fluent in five languages. Black belt in multiple martial arts. Suspected involvement in at least a dozen territorial disputes, though never formally charged.

"He looks..." Izuku searched for a word that wouldn't betray the sudden flutter of nervousness in his chest. "Intense."

"He's dangerous," his father corrected. "But he's also the key to our survival. The Bakugos don't know yet that you're not their expected bride. We've kept your public profile minimal for security reasons, so there are no photographs that would have reached them."

"So I just... show up? Surprise, hope for the best?"

"You'll meet the family in three days. A formal introduction at their estate." Hisashi sat back down, already returning to his paperwork as if the conversation was over. "I suggest you prepare yourself. Learn everything in that file. The Bakugos respect strength and knowledge. Don't give them any reason to look down on you."

"And if Katsuki Bakugo takes one look at me and refuses?"

His father's pen paused mid-stroke. When he looked up, his expression was colder than Izuku had ever seen it.

"Then you'd better make sure he doesn't refuse."

---

Izuku spent the next three days drowning in information and preparing himself.

On the first day, the public information on the Bakugo family sat in a file on his desk. The file itself became his bible, and he was the dedicated disciple that needed to learn every page until he could recite details in his sleep.

Katsuki Bakugo was twenty-three, born April 20th, blood type A. He'd attended the same prestigious high school as Izuku, though Izuku had been so sheltered by private tutors that they'd never crossed paths. After graduation, while Izuku was being groomed for the corporate world, Katsuki vanished from the majority of the public's view.

Izuku memorized the names of Katsuki's parents, Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugo, and read profiles on other key family members. He studied photographs of their home, a sprawling traditional estate on the outskirts of Tokyo that managed to be both beautiful and intimidating.

After he was sure he had everything the public knew about the family memorized, Izuku began searching for information about the more shadowy parts of the organization. The allied families, their territories, other rival syndicates and how they all were just blood thirsty and waiting for an opening to strike.

After only 3 hours of research, Izuku decided to research what he was about to become.

Same-sex marriage had been legal in Japan for several decades now, though it was still uncommon enough to raise eyebrows in traditional circles. The yakuza world, for all its old-fashioned codes, had apparently adapted. Or, he hoped, the Bakugos simply hadn't cared about the gender of their future in-law when making the agreement.

He held onto that hope even while knowing it was probably poisonous. Maybe this wouldn't be the disaster his anxious mind kept painting.

Maybe Katsuki Bakugo would be understanding, and reasonable. Maybe they could come to some sort of arrangement that would satisfy both families without either of them having to sacrifice their entire futures.

Izuku glanced at Bakugo's picture, at the red eyes that glared at everything around him.

Hope alone wouldn't protect him if things went wrong. He needed to play the long game. He needed to play chess while everyone else played checkers.

On the second day, Izuku found a private gun range on the outskirts of the city. The kind that didn't ask too many questions if you paid enough and booked a session. It was also ran and operated by a rival syndicate, the Monoma family.

The instructor, a grizzled man with scars on his knuckles and his syndicate tattoo peeking from beneath his collar, had looked Izuku up and down with undisguised skepticism.

"You ever held a gun before?" The man asked.

"No," Izuku admitted, his palms already sweating.

The man grunted. "At least you're honest. Most rich boys lie and almost shoot their own feet off."

The weight of the Glock 19 in his hand felt wrong. Too heavy, too real, too much like an admission that his life was truly changing. The instructor positioned him, corrected his stance, and showed him how to align the sights.

"Breathe out slowly. Squeeze, don't pull. The gun should almost surprise you when it fires."

The first shot made Izuku flinch so hard he nearly dropped the weapon. His ears rang despite the protection. The target remained untouched.

"Again."

By the end of two hours, Izuku's arms ached and his ears felt stuffed with cotton, but he could hit the target's center mass more often than not. Not impressive, but the instructor nodded with something approaching approval.

"You're not a natural, but you listen. That's rarer than you'd think." He ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber with practiced ease. "Remember, in a real situation, your heart will be pounding, your hands will shake, and everything will happen faster than you can think. The fundamentals are all that will save you."

Izuku stared at the target, at the cluster of holes he'd put there, and tried not to think about those holes being in a person.

He paid in cash and left. He hoped that if things worked out in the long run, the impression he left would be enough.

The third day brought a different kind of pain, and a different type of gambling.

Izuku located a martial arts dojo that was owned by the Kirishima family syndicate. While the Kirishima syndicate wasn't openly hostile towards the Bakugo's it wasn't openly friendly either.

The dojo offered private sessions and didn't require membership paperwork. Izuku smiled to himself and hoped this gamble would pay off as well.

The instructor was a compact woman with gray-streaked hair and eyes that had seen too much.

"I need to refresh my self-defense training," Izuku had told her. "I learned the basics as a kid, but it's been years since I practiced."

She'd studied him for a long moment, taking in his expensive watch, his nervous energy, the way he kept glancing at the door. "Running from something or running toward something?"

Izuku raised his eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

"Not at all," she'd said. "Get changed."

His body remembered that he hadn't practiced in years within the first five minutes.

"You're thinking too much," she said, not even breathing hard while Izuku gasped for air. "Stop trying to be perfect. Just move."

They drilled escapes from grabs, simple strikes to vulnerable areas, and how to create distance. She didn't go easy on him. Every mistake earned a controlled takedown that left Izuku on the mat, staring at the ceiling.

"You're preparing for something dangerous," she said, and it wasn't a question. She offered a hand to pull him up. "The basics might buy you enough time to run, or to reach a weapon, or for help to arrive."

"And if there's no time? No weapon? No help?" Izuku asked, accepting the hand up.

Her expression was grim. "Then you fight dirty and hope you're meaner than the other guy. Eyes, throat, groin, nothing's off limits when you're fighting for your life."

By the time they finished, Izuku's muscles screamed and bruises were already blooming on his arms and ribs. But his body remembered the movements now, the way it used to. Muscle memory was a strange thing, it slept but never truly died.

That night, soaking in a hot bath to ease the aches, Izuku stared at his hands. They'd held a gun. They'd thrown strikes meant to incapacitate. They trembled slightly from exhaustion and, if he was honest, fear.

What kind of life was he preparing for?

He hadn't told his father about any of it. These three days had been his, his choices, his preparations, his small act of control in a situation where he had none. If he was going to walk into the yakuza world, he'd do it on his own terms as much as possible. Even if those terms meant learning to shoot and fight and making lasting impressions with a couple other syndicates before being forced to marry into a third one, so be it.

On the morning of the fourth day, Izuku and his father were on their way to the Bakugo estate. Izuku went over everything he learned and was mentally preparing himself when the driver's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"We're here, Midoriya-san."

He looked to find they'd stopped before massive iron gates decorated with stylized explosions, the Bakugo family crest. Beyond them, a long driveway wound through immaculately maintained gardens toward the main house.

Izuku's heart hammered against his ribs. His shoulder ached where he'd hit the mat wrong yesterday. His hands still remembered the weight of the gun.

"Are you ready, son?"

He turned to find his father watching him with an unreadable expression. For a moment, Izuku wanted to say no. To demand they turn the car around and find any other solution, no matter how impossible.

Instead, he straightened his shoulders and smoothed down his expensive suit jacket.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

The gates opened, and Izuku Midoriya rode toward his future, toward a man he'd never met, who thought he was marrying a woman, who held Izuku's entire world in his hands without even knowing it.

‘Please’, Izuku thought as the Bakugo estate grew larger in the window. Please let this work out.

But in his heart, he knew better than to count on miracles.

Those had run out the moment his father signed that contract.

Chapter Text

The Bakugo estate was even more impressive up close.

Traditional architecture blended seamlessly with modern security. Izuku spotted cameras hidden among the eaves, reinforced doors disguised as historical fixtures, and guards positioned at strategic points throughout the grounds. His analytical mind catalogued each detail automatically, the same way he'd studied business competitors or assessed underground fight matchups. Beautiful, yes, but also a fortress.

Their car stopped at the main entrance, where a woman in a crisp suit waited. She bowed precisely as Izuku and his father stepped out, her expression professionally neutral.

"Midoriya-san, welcome. The family is waiting in the formal reception room. Please, follow me."

Izuku's legs felt steady despite the nervous energy coiling in his chest. His bruised shoulder throbbed slightly beneath his suit jacket, a reminder of his preparation, his choice to not walk in here helpless. He'd spent three days making sure he wouldn't be completely out of his depth. Now came the real test.

His father walked beside him with perfect confidence, as if he weren't delivering his son into a situation that could explode at any moment. Izuku supposed that was a skill you developed after decades of high-stakes negotiations.

Or maybe his father just didn't care enough to be nervous.

They reached a pair of sliding doors, and the woman knocked once before opening them.

"The Midoriya family, sir."

Izuku's first thought upon entering the room was that he'd severely underestimated how intimidating the Bakugos would be in person, even after all his research.

Three people sat in the reception room, arranged formally on cushions around a low table. The woman on the left had spiky ash-blonde hair and sharp red eyes that immediately locked onto Izuku with laser focus. Mitsuki Bakugo, current head of the Bakugo syndicate and one of the most feared yakuza leaders in Tokyo. He'd read the little information about her that he could find. Her ruthless efficiency, the way she'd consolidated power after her father's retirement, was terrifying.

Beside her sat a man with gentler features and brown hair, though his calm demeanor didn't make him any less intimidating in this context. Masaru Bakugo, her husband and advisor. More publicly visible but, according to Izuku's research, his strategic mind was behind many of the family's successful negotiations, both legitimate and criminal.

And on the right…

Izuku's breath caught, though he kept his expression neutral.

Katsuki Bakugo was somehow both exactly like his photographs and nothing like them at all. The pictures had captured his sharp features, his aggressive blond hair, those piercing red eyes. But they hadn't captured the sheer presence he radiated, the controlled violence in the way he held himself, the intelligence in those eyes that tracked Izuku's every movement. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that probably cost more than most people's cars, and he looked every inch the dangerous heir Izuku believed him to be.

He was also, Izuku noted with clinical detachment that didn't quite mask his actual reaction, absolutely gorgeous.

Izuku filed that observation away for later analysis. Attraction was a complication he didn't need right now.

"Midoriya-san." Mitsuki's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "Please, sit."

They settled across from the Bakugo family, Izuku being careful to maintain proper posture despite his nervousness. His father bowed respectfully, and Izuku followed suit.

"Thank you for welcoming us into your home," Hisashi said smoothly. "It's an honor to finally meet in person."

"The honor is mutual." Mitsuki's smile was sharp. "We've been looking forward to this arrangement for months now. The union of our families will benefit us both greatly."

"Indeed. May I introduce my son, Izuku Midoriya."

This was it. The moment of truth.

Izuku bowed again, deeper this time, before meeting Mitsuki's gaze. Then Masaru's. And finally, inevitably, Katsuki's.

The heir was staring at him with an expression Izuku couldn't quite read. Confusion? Surprise? Anger? His red eyes narrowed slightly, traveling from Izuku's face down to his suit and back up again.

"Your son," Mitsuki repeated slowly. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "And where is your daughter?"

"I don't have a daughter," Hisashi said, his voice steady. "Izuku is my only child."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Katsuki's jaw clenched. Masaru's eyes widened fractionally. And Mitsuki…Mitsuki looked like she was calculating exactly how many ways she could destroy the Midoriya empire before breakfast.

Izuku kept his expression calm, even as his mind raced through scenarios and contingencies. This was the critical moment. How he handled himself now would determine everything.

"I see." Her voice was deadly calm. "And when, exactly, were you planning to mention this detail?"

"I understand this may come as a surprise—"

"A surprise?" Katsuki spoke for the first time, and his voice was raspy, a deep baritone that seemed to resonate in the space between them. "You made an agreement to provide a bride for an arranged marriage, and you show up with a—" He stopped himself, those red eyes boring into Izuku with an intensity that would have made him flinch a week ago.

But Izuku had spent three days preparing for this world. He remembered the intense stares both the gun trainer and the martial artist gave him, and drew strength from the memories. He met Katsuki's glare steadily.

"A man," Katsuki finished, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. "Did you think we wouldn't notice? That we'd just accept this without question?"

"It's not a joke," Hisashi said firmly. "The agreement was for a marriage between our families. Izuku is my heir, and he's—"

"He's not what we agreed to." Katsuki stood abruptly, his presence somehow even more overwhelming when he was on his feet. The movement was controlled but radiated violence, like a blade being unsheathed. "You came into our home, bowed and smiled, and thought you could just—what? Hope we wouldn't care that you lied to us for six months?"

"We didn't lie—"

"Bullshit!" Katsuki's voice cracked like thunder. "You let us plan around a daughter. You knew what we expected and you said nothing. That's a lie by omission, and we both know it."

Mitsuki raised a hand, and Katsuki fell silent, though his fists remained clenched at his sides. She turned her attention back to Hisashi, and her expression was ice.

"You have put us in a very difficult position, Midoriya-san. We entered this agreement with certain expectations. You allowed us to maintain those expectations while knowing they were false."

"The gender of my heir shouldn't matter," Hisashi said. "Same-sex marriage is legal. The alliance between our families remains beneficial regardless of—"

"Don't lecture me about what should or shouldn't matter." Mitsuki's voice cut through his words like a knife. "This isn't about legality. It's about trust. You deceived us."

"We didn't deceive you. We simply didn't correct your assumptions."

"That's the same damn thing!" Katsuki snapped, taking a step forward before his father's hand on his arm stopped him.

Izuku watched the situation unravel before his eyes. The Bakugos were furious—rightfully so. His father had played a dangerous game, gambling that the strategic benefits would outweigh the deception. And now they were all paying the price.

But Izuku's three days of research hadn't been just about learning to defend himself. He'd studied the alliance itself, understanding not just what his family needed, but what the Bakugos stood to gain. If he was going to salvage this, he needed to remind them of that.

"Please," Izuku said, his voice calm but firm enough to cut through the tension. "I know this isn't what you expected. I know my father should have been upfront from the beginning."

All eyes turned to him. Katsuki's glare could have melted steel.

"I only learned about this arrangement three days ago," Izuku continued, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "I wasn't part of the negotiations. I wasn't consulted. I was simply informed that I would be married, and that refusal wasn't an option." He paused, letting that sink in. "So I spent those three days trying to understand why. Not just why my father would agree to this, but why your family would want this alliance in the first place."

"Enlighten us," Mitsuki said, her tone dangerous.

Izuku took a slow breath. This was a gamble, but staying silent was a guaranteed loss.

"You need legitimacy," he said simply. "Your family controls significant territory and has tremendous influence in the underground economy. But you're still yakuza. You're still operating in legal gray areas at best, and your assets are vulnerable to seizure, your businesses subject to raids, your movements tracked by law enforcement."

Masaru's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"The Midoriya empire owns one of the largest law firms in Japan. Three former Supreme Court justices are on our advisory board. We have connections to the Ministry of Justice, the National Police Agency, and nearly every major legitimate financial institution in the country." Izuku kept his voice analytical, factual. "Through marriage to my family, your operations gain a shield of legitimacy. Your businesses can be restructured through our corporate holdings. Your assets can be laundered—legally—through our real estate and technology portfolios. Your family members can move in political and business circles that would never accept yakuza otherwise."

"You think we don't know this?" Katsuki demanded, though some of the fury had shifted to something more focused.

"I think you know it very well. I think it's exactly why you agreed to this arrangement in the first place." Izuku turned his attention fully to Katsuki now. "Your family has been systematically legitimizing your operations for the past decade. The construction company. The security consulting firm. The import-export business. All of them are real, functional companies that also serve as covers for your traditional activities."

"Careful," Mitsuki warned, but there was a hint of something. Respect or maybe interest in her voice now.

"I'm not judging. I'm acknowledging reality." Izuku pressed on. "But legitimizing a yakuza empire is incredibly difficult when law enforcement and regulatory agencies are watching your every move. You need someone who can open doors that would otherwise remain closed. Someone whose name carries enough weight in legitimate circles to make the authorities think twice before investigating too closely."

He gestured to his father without looking away from the Bakugos. "The Midoriya name can do that. Our law firm can handle any legal challenges that arise. Our political connections can ensure favorable interpretations of regulations. Our business relationships can integrate your operations into legitimate supply chains and corporate structures." Izuku paused. "That's worth something. Even now. Even with my father's deception."

The room fell into a tense silence. Izuku could feel his heart pounding, but he kept his expression neutral. He'd laid out the strategic value they represented. Now came the harder part.

"But there's something else," he continued, and this time he looked directly at Katsuki. "Something my father couldn't provide alone, no matter how many contracts he signed."

"And what's that?" Katsuki asked, his voice still edged with anger but tempered with curiosity.

"An actual partnership." Izuku kept his gaze steady. "My father's generation sees this as a business transaction. Merge assets, share resources, mutual benefit. But that's not sustainable long-term, especially with the deception that started this. There will always be suspicion, always be resentment."

He saw Mitsuki's eyes sharpen, her focus intensifying.

"But a real marriage—one between heirs who actually understand each other's worlds—that's different. That's not just a contract between families. That's a foundation for genuine integration." Izuku could feel the weight of what he was proposing, the enormity of it. "I'm not going to pretend I can replace what you expected. I'm not going to claim this is fair or ideal. But I can offer you something my father can't: someone who's willing to actually learn your world, understand your operations, and build something real rather than just maintain a political alliance."

"Pretty words," Katsuki said, but there was less bite to it now. "You expect us to believe you'd actually do that? Jump into the yakuza world with both feet?"

"I spent the last three days at a gun range and a martial arts dojo," Izuku said bluntly. "Both owned by families that aren't openly allied with you. I made sure to pay in cash, use my real name, and leave an impression. So yes, when this month is over and you decide whether to go through with this, those families will remember that a Midoriya sought them out right before a potential alliance with the Bakugos fell through."

The silence that followed was different. Sharper. More calculating.

"You made contact with the Monoma and Kirishima families?" Masaru asked quietly.

"I needed training. They had facilities. I didn't hide who I was." Izuku met his gaze. "If this alliance fails, those families will know the Midoriya heir came to them first. They'll wonder why. They'll consider possibilities. And the Bakugos will have to wonder if we're exploring other options."

"That's a threat," Katsuki said flatly.

"That's insurance," Izuku corrected. "You're not the only ones who need to protect your position. My father put us in a terrible situation with his deception, but that doesn't mean we're helpless." He paused. "It also means I'm taking this seriously. I'm not some sheltered rich boy who'll collapse the first time things get difficult. If I'm going to marry into the yakuza world, I'm going to be prepared for it."

Mitsuki leaned back slightly, and for the first time since the revelation, she looked something other than furious. Impressed, maybe. Or at least intrigued.

"You've got balls, kid. I'll give you that." She glanced at Katsuki. "What do you think?"

Katsuki was staring at Izuku with an intensity that made him want to look away. But he didn't. Couldn't. This was too important.

"I think," Katsuki said slowly, "that he's more interesting than I expected." He crossed his arms. "But interesting doesn't mean I'm ready to marry him. I don't know you. You don't know me. And your father still lied to us."

"You're right," Izuku agreed. "On all counts. So here's what I propose: give me one month. Let me stay here, learn about your family, prove I'm serious about this. At the end of that month, if you genuinely believe this can't work, we'll find another solution."

"What other solution?" Hisashi demanded, speaking for the first time since Izuku had taken over the conversation. "The agreement—"

"Will be renegotiated," Mitsuki cut him off, her voice sharp. "You broke trust, Midoriya-san. The original terms are void. If we're going to move forward—and that's still an if—it will be under new conditions that account for your deception."

Hisashi's jaw tightened, but he nodded stiffly. He wasn't in a position to argue.

Masaru spoke up, his voice thoughtful. "A trial period makes sense. One month gives both families time to reassess without making irreversible decisions immediately. Izuku stays here, at the estate. He learns our world, proves his commitment. Katsuki gets to know him, decides if this is workable."

"And if I decide it isn't?" Katsuki asked.

"Then we negotiate an exit that doesn't destroy both families," Masaru said. "Perhaps a modified business partnership without the marriage component. It won't have the same strategic value, but it would preserve face and prevent open conflict."

Mitsuki nodded slowly. "But Izuku stays here for the month regardless. Insurance that the Midoriyas take this seriously and don't try to back out or negotiate in bad faith."

"You're taking my son hostage," Hisashi said flatly.

"We're accepting your son as a guest," Mitsuki corrected with a sharp smile. "One who will be treated with all the respect appropriate to a potential family member. But yes, he stays here. Non-negotiable."

Izuku felt the weight of that statement settle over him. He'd be living in the heart of yakuza territory, surrounded by people who had every reason to be hostile toward him. No security detail. No familiar faces. No easy escape if things went wrong.

His shoulder throbbed where the martial arts instructor had taken him down. His hands remembered the weight of the gun.

"I understand," he said, his voice steady despite the fear trying to claw its way up his throat. "And I accept those terms."

Hisashi looked like he wanted to argue, to pull Izuku back and find some other solution. But they both knew there wasn't one. If Izuku refused, the Bakugos would see it as an admission that the Midoriyas weren't serious. The alliance would collapse. Everything would fall apart.

"Fine," his father said through gritted teeth. "One month."

Mitsuki turned her attention to Katsuki. "And you? Can you set aside your anger long enough to actually give this a chance?"

Katsuki was silent for a long moment, his gaze never leaving Izuku's face. Izuku couldn't read what he saw there, calculation, certainly, but also something else. Curiosity? Challenge?

"One month," Katsuki finally said. "But I'm not making any promises. If he can't handle this world, if he's just playing at being tough, I'll know. And this will be over."

"That's fair," Izuku said, meeting his eyes. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

The tension in the room shifted slightly, from explosive anger to wary calculation. It wasn't warm. It wasn't comfortable. But it was workable.

"Then let's discuss the revised contract terms," Mitsuki said, gesturing for assistants to bring in documents. "And Midoriya-san, let me be very clear: if you attempt any further deception, if you try to manipulate this situation to your advantage, or if you fail to uphold any part of what we agree to today, the consequences will be severe. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Hisashi said.

As the parents began negotiating the new terms—increased stake in Midoriya holdings, priority access to legal services, guaranteed positions on corporate boards—Izuku found himself still locked in eye contact with Katsuki.

The heir's expression was unreadable now, the fury banked but not extinguished. After a moment, he stood and walked toward a side door.

"Come on," he said without looking back. "If you're staying here, might as well see where you'll be living."

Izuku glanced at his father, who gave a curt nod, then followed Katsuki out of the room.

They walked in silence through elegant hallways, passing guards who bowed respectfully to Katsuki and eyed Izuku with open suspicion. Finally, Katsuki stopped at a door and pushed it open.

"Guest quarters," he said. "You'll stay here. It's secure, comfortable, and monitored. Don't try to leave the estate without permission. Don't try to contact anyone outside without approval. And don't wander into areas you're not authorized for."

"Understood," Izuku said, taking in the room. It was beautiful—traditional tatami mats, shoji screens, elegant furnishings. It was also clearly designed to be a gilded cage.

Katsuki turned to leave, then paused at the door.

"That thing you said in there. About wanting to build something real instead of maintaining a political alliance." His voice was low, controlled. "Did you mean it, or was that just you being strategic?"

Izuku considered lying, or deflecting, or giving some diplomatic non-answer. But something told him that would be the wrong move with Katsuki Bakugo.

"Both," he said honestly. "I meant it. But I also knew it was the right thing to say to keep this from falling apart."

Katsuki's lips quirked in something that might have been a smile if it had contained any warmth.

"At least you're honest about being calculating." He studied Izuku for another moment. "You're not what I expected."

"Neither are you," Izuku replied.

"Good. Expectations are boring." Katsuki pulled the door open. "Someone will bring your things later. Dinner is at seven. Don't be late."

Then he was gone, leaving Izuku alone in his new prison.

Izuku sank down onto the futon and let out a shaky breath. He'd done it. He'd survived the initial confrontation, demonstrated his value, and bought himself a month to figure out how to make this work.

One month to convince Katsuki Bakugo that marrying him wasn't a disaster.

One month to prove he belonged in this world.

One month to save everything.

Through the window, he could see the estate grounds stretching out below, beautiful and dangerous in equal measure.

No pressure.

Chapter Text

Izuku's first night at the Bakugo estate was sleepless.

Not because the room was uncomfortable, the futon was probably the most expensive thing he'd ever slept on, and the silk sheets felt like water against his skin. It was also not because he was afraid, exactly, though the knowledge that he was surrounded by armed yakuza didn't exactly help his anxiety.

No, Izuku couldn't sleep because his thoughts wouldn't shut up.

He lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, and replayed every moment of the meeting. Every expression on Katsuki's face. Every calculating look from Mitsuki. Every word he'd said, measuring them against what he should have said, could have said differently.

The clock on the wall read 3:47 AM when he finally gave up and sat up, reaching for the notebook he'd smuggled in his jacket pocket. Old habits died hard, and Izuku had been taking analytical notes since he was old enough to hold a pen.

Day One - Initial Meeting

Mitsuki Bakugo: Sharp, controlled fury. Respected honesty more than diplomacy. Responds to strategic value and directness. Note: don't try to charm her. She'll see through it.

Masaru Bakugo: Quieter but no less dangerous. The strategist. He suggested the one-month trial—potential ally? Or testing me?

Katsuki Bakugo:

Izuku paused, pen hovering over the paper. How did he even begin to categorize Katsuki?

Dangerous. Intelligent. Furious but controlled—the anger doesn't rule him, he weaponizes it. Noticed everything about me. The way he looked at me wasn't just anger. It was... assessment? Challenge?

He called expectations boring.

Izuku stared at that last line, then added:

I need to not be boring.

A soft knock at the door made him jump, quickly shoving the notebook under his pillow. "Yes?"

The door slid open to reveal a young woman in casual clothes, though Izuku didn't miss the way she moved, economical, balanced, ready for violence. Her golden-brown skin complimented her striking golden topaz eyes. Her fluffy pink hair was cut short, framing her face. She bowed slightly. 

"Midoriya-san. I'm Ashido Mina. I'll be your... let's call it a liaison during your stay." Her smile was friendly, but her eyes were sharp. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Jet lag," Izuku joked smoothly, even though they'd barely traveled across the city.

"Right." Her tone suggested she caught the joke. "Well, since you're up, want to grab some breakfast? The kitchen's always open, and you look like you could use some food that isn't anxiety."

Despite himself, Izuku chuckled. "Is it that obvious?"

"You're staying in the guest quarters of a yakuza estate after your first meeting with the family went sideways. If you weren't anxious, I'd be worried about your survival instincts." She gestured for him to follow. "Come on. I'll show you around and give you the real tour, not the official one."

Izuku hesitated only a moment before pulling on his clothes from yesterday and following her out. If this was a test, and everything here probably was, he'd rather fail it by being too trusting than too paranoid.

The estate was different at night. Quieter, but not empty. They passed guards at regular intervals, all of whom nodded to Ashido and studied Izuku with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion. The gardens were lit by subtle lighting that made the carefully manicured paths look almost ethereal.

"So," Ashido said as they walked, "you're the guy who agreed to marry Bakugo to save your family's empire. That takes guts."

"Or desperation," Izuku replied.

"Same thing in this world." She led him down a side path. "For what it's worth, I think what you said in the meeting was smart. Most people would have panicked or tried to make excuses. You owned the situation and made it about value instead of apologies."

"You were there?"

"I'm head of household security. I'm everywhere." She grinned. "Also, Mitsuki-sama likes to have me present for important meetings. Says I notice things other people miss."

They reached what looked like a smaller building separate from the main house. Inside, a large kitchen gleamed with professional equipment. Ashido immediately started pulling out ingredients.

"You cook?" Izuku asked, surprised.

"Everyone here learns basic survival skills. Cooking, first aid, hand-to-hand combat, weapons maintenance. You never know what you'll need." She cracked eggs into a bowl with practiced ease. "Besides, the main chef doesn't start until six, and I get hungry. Want some tamagoyaki?"

"Sure. Thank you."

As she cooked, Izuku found himself relaxing slightly. Ashido had an easy manner that made the situation feel less like being a prisoner and more like... well, still being a prisoner, but a comfortable one.

"Can I ask you something?" Izuku said.

"Shoot."

"What's he really like? The Bakugo heir. Beyond the anger and…well… the heir apparent thing."

Ashido was quiet for a moment, flipping the egg carefully. "That's a complicated question."

"I have time."

"True." She plated the tamagoyaki and started on a second one. "Katsuki's... intense. You saw that. But he's not just anger and violence. He's probably the smartest person I know, and I know some scary-smart people. He sees patterns, strategies, weaknesses. He can walk into a room and within five minutes know everyone's relationship dynamics and how to exploit them."

"That's terrifying."

"Yeah. But it also means he's good at his job. The families under Bakugo protection? They're actually protected. He doesn't just collect tribute and ignore them. He solves their problems, handles their enemies, makes sure they're profitable enough to keep paying." She slid the eggs onto plates and handed one to Izuku. "He's brutal, but he's fair. That's rare in this world."

Izuku ate slowly, processing that. "And personally? What's he like when he's not being the heir?"

"Honestly? I don't know if there is a version of Bakugo that's not the heir. He's been groomed for this since he could walk." Ashido leaned against the counter. "But I've seen moments. He likes spicy food. Like, inhumanely spicy. He reads constantly, everything from military strategy to random manga. He plays drums when he's thinking through a problem, usually around two AM, and everyone just accepts it because the soundproofing is shit and he's the heir."

Despite the situation, Izuku found himself smiling at that image. Katsuki Bakugo, feared yakuza heir, drumming away his stress at two in the morning.

"He also," Ashido continued, her voice more serious now, "has never backed down from a challenge in his life. Ever. Even when he should. Especially when he should. So if you're planning to just coast through this month and hope he gets bored and approves the marriage anyway?" She met his eyes. "That won't work. He'll push you until you break or push back."

"I'm counting on it," Izuku said quietly.

Ashido's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"If he just accepted me without question, it would mean he didn't care. And if he doesn't care, this marriage would be exactly what everyone's afraid of. A political arrangement that falls apart the moment it's inconvenient." Izuku set down his chopsticks. "But if he pushes me and I prove I can push back? That's something he might actually respect."

"Huh." Ashido grinned. "You know, I thought you were going to be another soft rich boy who'd cry and run home after the first week. I might have been wrong."

"I spent the last three days learning to shoot and fight. I'm definitely soft and definitely a rich boy, but I'm not planning to run."

"We'll see." She collected their plates. "Come on. Since we're both awake, I'll show you the parts of the estate you're allowed to access. And the parts you're definitely not allowed to access, so you know what to avoid."

The tour took almost two hours. Ashido showed him the gardens, the security checkpoints, the common areas where family members and trusted associates gathered. She pointed out which buildings were residential, which were business-related, and which were strictly off-limits.

"That one," she said, gesturing to a building set back from the main compound, "is where Bakugo trains. Dojo, shooting range, the works. You're allowed in, but only if someone escorts you or if he specifically invites you."

"Has he ever specifically invited anyone?"

"His close circle here at the compound, which includes the Kirishima heir and his guards Kaminari and Sero. They've been with him since high school." She paused. "Oh, and one time he invited this diplomat's son who trash-talked his fighting skills. That ended with the diplomat's son in the hospital and Bakugo getting a lecture from Mitsuki-sama about excessive force."

Izuku felt a chill run down his spine. “Did you say the Kirishima heir?”

“I sure did. Which means that move you did, can either help you out beyond what you thought it could, or it was digging your own grave.”

"Good to know," Izuku said faintly.

By the time they returned to the main house, the sun was rising, painting the estate in shades of gold and pink. It was beautiful. It was also surrounded by walls, cameras, and armed guards.

A gilded cage, Izuku thought again. But maybe one he could learn to navigate.

"Midoriya-san."

They both turned to find Masaru Bakugo approaching, dressed casually but immaculately as always. He nodded to Ashido. "Thank you for looking after our guest. I'll take it from here."

Ashido bowed and disappeared with the efficiency of someone who knew when to make herself scarce.

Masaru gestured for Izuku to walk with him. They strolled through the gardens in silence for a moment before he spoke.

"My son thinks you're plotting something."

Izuku's heart skipped, but he kept his voice steady. "I am plotting something. I'm plotting how to survive the next month and convince your family I'm worth keeping around."

"That's not what I mean." Masaru's voice was gentle, but there was steel underneath. "Katsuki believes you made contact with the Monoma and Kirishima families as insurance, yes. But he also thinks there's another layer. Something you haven't revealed yet."

Of course Katsuki had seen through it. Izuku had been counting on that, actually.

"There is," Izuku admitted. "But it's not a threat to your family."

"Explain."

They stopped at a koi pond, watching the fish glide through the water in lazy patterns. Izuku took a breath and decided, again, that honesty was his best strategy with these people.

"If I fail here, if this month ends and Katsuki decides I'm not suitable, our families will need a graceful exit. A way to back out without losing face or starting a war." He watched a particularly large koi surface for air. "By making contact with other families, I've created... let's call it plausible deniability. If this falls apart, we can claim I was exploring multiple alliance options, and the Bakugos simply weren't the right fit. It's not ideal, but it's better than the alternative."

"And if you succeed?"

"Then those contacts become useful in a different way. I wasn't aware of the connection your son and the Kirishima heir have at the time, however, the Monoma and Kirishima families would have heard about how a Midoriya came to them, was polite and professional, paid well and didn't cause trouble. That's goodwill. Future leverage." Izuku finally looked at Masaru. "Either way, I'm trying to make sure this situation doesn't end in bloodshed."

Masaru was quiet for a long moment. "You think like a strategist."

"I think like someone who doesn't want people to die because my father made a stupid decision."

"Fair enough." Masaru resumed walking. "Here's what you need to understand about my son, Midoriya-san. Katsuki is brilliant, driven, and absolutely uncompromising when it comes to loyalty and respect. If he decides you're worth his time, he will move mountains for you. But if he decides you're playing him, using him, or wasting his time?" He stopped and turned to face Izuku fully. "He will destroy you without hesitation or remorse."

"I understand."

"Do you? Because right now, you're in a precarious position. You're smart enough to be interesting and calculating enough to be dangerous. That combination either makes you valuable or makes you a threat. Katsuki is trying to figure out which."

"What do you think?" Izuku asked.

Masaru smiled slightly. "I think you're terrified but hiding it well. I think you're out of your depth but learning to swim fast. And I think..." He paused. "I think you might actually care about making this work, beyond just the political necessities. That's either very brave or very foolish."

"Can't it be both?"

"In this world? Usually is." Masaru gestured back toward the main house. "You should rest. Tonight, you'll have dinner with the family. Not just the immediate family, but some of the key associates and allies will be there as well. Consider it your formal introduction to the organization."

"Is that another test?"

"Everything is a test, Midoriya-san. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be." He started to walk away, then paused. "One more thing. My son plays drums at two AM when he's thinking. If you hear it tonight, that means he's trying to figure you out. Whether that's good or bad depends entirely on what he decides."

“Miss Ashido already informed me it is something he does when he's thinking.”

With a nod, Masaru turned away.

“Mind if I ask you one more thing Sir?” Izuku asked quickly.

Masaru paused before turning back around and nodding his consent.

“I will not pretend to know what your son's orientation is. I also will not pretend that I know the inner workings of the underworld. However, I do know history. If your son deems me worthy to keep but he does not feel attraction for me, there are other ways to go about it. In ancient times, concubines were given for more than sexual pleasures and producing more heirs. Some were given to be consultants, or financial backers.”

Masaru regarded Izuku for a moment before replying.

“What is your orientation?”

Izuku shrugged. “I have no idea myself. I've never had any urges in my life that would sway me one way or another.”

“Interesting. I'll think about it. As for my son, I have never pried into his personal affairs like that so that is something you'll have to find out yourself.”

Then he was gone, leaving Izuku alone with the koi and his thoughts.

---

Izuku managed a few hours of sleep before Ashido returned with clothes for the evening. Expensive, tailored, and appropriate for a formal yakuza dinner. As she helped him get ready, she provided a rapid-fire briefing on who would be attending and what he should know about each person.

"Kirishima Eijirou. You already researched his family. He's Bakugo's best friend, totally loyal, don't mistake his friendly demeanor for weakness. Kaminari Denki. Handles the tech and information side, jokes a lot but is scary smart. Sero Hanta. Logistics and transportation, very chill but extremely efficient..."

The list went on. By the time evening arrived, Izuku's head was spinning with names, faces, and relationships. He felt like he was preparing for a final exam where failure meant something worse than a bad grade.

The dining room was large and formal, with a long table that could easily seat thirty people. About twenty were already present when Izuku arrived, all conversation stopping as he entered.

Katsuki sat at the head of the table, naturally, with his parents on either side. He looked up as Izuku approached, those red eyes tracking his every movement.

"You're on time," Katsuki said. "Good. I hate waiting."

"I'll keep that in mind," Izuku replied, taking the seat that Ashido subtly directed him to, close enough to the head of the table to show respect, but not so close as to presume intimacy.

The young man next to him, with bright red spiky hair and possibly the friendliest smile Izuku had ever seen on a yakuza, extended his hand.

"Kirishima Eijirou! Nice to meet you properly, Midoriya. I've heard a lot about yesterday's meeting."

"All bad, I assume," Izuku said with a polite smile, shaking his hand.

"Nah, man. Mostly impressed, actually. Takes guts to walk in here and basically call out the whole situation." Kirishima's grip was firm but not aggressive. "Plus, Bakugo hasn't stopped thinking about you since, so you definitely made an impression."

"Kirishima," Katsuki's voice cracked across the table like a whip. "Shut up."

"Just being friendly, bro!"

"Be friendly quieter."

Despite the tension, Izuku found himself smiling. The dynamic between them was obvious, absolute loyalty mixed with the kind of familiarity that came from years of friendship.

As the meal began, Izuku found himself in multiple conversations simultaneously. The person across from him, Kaminari, asked about his education. Sero inquired about his thoughts on the estate. Others made polite small talk that was clearly designed to assess him.

Every answer was being catalogued. Every response measured.

Halfway through the meal, a man Izuku didn't recognize leaned forward. He was older, probably in his forties, with a scar across his cheek and cold eyes.

"So, Midoriya. You're the one who thinks he can just walk into our world and fit in. Tell me, you ever killed anyone?"

The table went quiet.

Izuku set down his chopsticks carefully. "No. Have you?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a game, boy. This is the yakuza. Violence is currency. Respect is earned in blood. You think your fancy education and your father's money mean anything here?"

"I think," Izuku said calmly, meeting his gaze, "that if violence was the only currency that mattered, you'd all be at war constantly and would have been destroyed by law enforcement years ago. But you're not. Because someone in this organization is smart enough to know that money, strategy, and legitimate business are just as important as violence."

"You calling me stupid?"

"I'm saying that if you think the only skill that matters here is killing, then yes, I'm calling you shortsighted." Izuku kept his voice level. "And if that offends you, we can discuss it further after dinner."

The man stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. For a moment, Izuku thought he'd pushed too far, that he was about to get into a fight he absolutely couldn't win.

Then Katsuki spoke.

"Goto. Sit down."

The man, Goto, turned to look at Katsuki. "He disrespected—"

"He answered your question honestly, which is more than you deserved for asking it in the first place." Katsuki's voice was cold. "You want to test him, do it on your own time. This is a formal dinner. Act like it."

Goto stared at Katsuki for a long moment, then slowly sat back down. But his eyes promised that this conversation wasn't over.

The meal continued, though the atmosphere had shifted. Some of the attendees looked at Izuku with new interest. Others with suspicion. A few, Kirishima, Ashido, and Kaminari among them, seemed almost approving.

After dinner, as people began to disperse, Katsuki caught Izuku's arm.

"Walk with me."

It wasn't a request.

They walked through the gardens in silence, the evening air cool against Izuku's skin. He could feel the tension radiating off Katsuki, though whether it was anger or something else, he couldn't tell.

Finally, Katsuki stopped at the edge of the koi pond where Izuku had talked with Masaru that morning.

"You handled Goto well," Katsuki said. "But you also made an enemy."

"I figured."

"Doesn't that scare you?"

"Terrifies me," Izuku admitted. "But backing down would have been worse. He was testing to see if I'd fold under pressure. If I had, everyone at that table would have written me off as weak."

Katsuki turned to face him, and in the moonlight, his expression was unreadable. "You're not what I expected."

"You said that yesterday."

"Yesterday I was angry. Today I'm... curious." He moved closer, and Izuku's breath caught. "You're smart. You're strategic. You're clearly terrified but you're not letting it control you. That's rare."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's an observation." Katsuki's eyes searched his face. "I've been thinking about what you said. About building something real instead of just maintaining a political alliance. Did you mean it?"

"Yes," Izuku said without hesitation. "I know I'm not what you expected or wanted. I know my father put us both in an impossible situation. But if we're going to do this, if we're going to make this work, it can't be just a contract. It has to be real."

"Real," Katsuki repeated softly. "You know what real means in my world? It means loyalty tested in blood. It means trust that gets people killed when it's broken. It means—"

"It means treating each other like partners instead of assets," Izuku interrupted. "It means actually learning about each other instead of just tolerating each other's presence. It means building something that benefits both of us instead of just checking boxes on a contract."

Katsuki stared at him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. It wasn't warm, exactly, but it was genuine.

"You've got guts, Deku. I'll give you that."

"Deku?"

"Means useless. But also... I don't know. It fits you. Determined little thing that won't quit even when you probably should." Katsuki turned back toward the pond. "One month. Prove you can handle this world. Prove you're not just playing at being tough. Prove you're worth my time."

"And if I do?"

"Then maybe we'll have something worth building."

It wasn't a promise. It wasn't even close to acceptance. But it was more than Izuku had expected.

"I can work with that," Izuku said.

Katsuki glanced at him sidelong. "You better. Because I don't give third chances, and you're already on your second."

Then he walked away, leaving Izuku alone with the koi and the moonlight and the slowly dawning realization that he might actually have a chance at making this work.

That night, at exactly 2 AM, Izuku heard the drums start.

He lay in his futon, listening to the distant rhythm. Complex, aggressive, controlled chaos. Katsuki was thinking about him. Trying to figure him out.

Izuku smiled in the darkness.

Good. Let him wonder.

The game was just beginning.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke up to someone pounding on his door.

Not knocking. Pounding. Like they were trying to break through with their fists alone.

He jolted upright, heart hammering, instinctively reaching for... what? He didn't have a weapon. Didn't have anything except the clothes he'd worn yesterday and the notebook hidden under his pillow.

"Get up, Deku!" Katsuki's voice barked through the door. "You've got five minutes!"

Izuku scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets. "Five minutes for what?"

"Four minutes now! Move your ass!"

By the time Izuku managed to pull on workout clothes that had mysteriously appeared in his closet (Ashido's doing, probably) and stumbled out the door, Katsuki was already walking away down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Izuku asked, jogging to catch up.

"Training."

"It's—" Izuku glanced at the clock. "—five thirty in the morning."

"Congratulations, you can tell time. Keep up."

They walked through the pre-dawn darkness of the estate, past guards who didn't even blink at Katsuki's presence. Izuku's mind was still foggy with sleep, but he forced himself to stay alert.

They reached the building Ashido had pointed out yesterday, Katsuki's private training facility. Inside, it was exactly what Izuku expected: a full dojo on one side, weight equipment in another section, and yes, a shooting range visible through a reinforced glass partition.

And in the center, a full drum kit.

"You said you spent three days preparing," Katsuki said, turning to face him. The early morning light streaming through the windows cast sharp shadows across his face. "Gun range. Martial arts. Let's see what you actually learned."

"Now?"

"You think threats wait until you've had coffee and a nice breakfast?" Katsuki moved to an equipment locker, pulling out two knives. He tossed one to Izuku, who caught it awkwardly. The blade was made from a hard rubber but the weight mimicked a real knife perfectly. Izuku had a passing thought that these were probably what was used in a show he watched as a kid that was about a classroom trying to kill their teacher, an octopus.

"In my world, violence happens when you're tired, unprepared, and don't see it coming. So yeah. Now," Katsuki explained. 

Izuku's exhaustion evaporated, replaced by adrenaline. He adjusted his grip on the practice knife, trying to remember what the instructor had taught him. Create distance. Protect your center line. Don't commit to attacks you can't recover from.

Katsuki didn't give him time to think.

He moved like liquid violence, closing the distance before Izuku could react. The practice knife came at him in a controlled arc, and Izuku barely managed to deflect it, stumbling backward.

"Sloppy," Katsuki said, circling. "You're thinking too much."

"I've had only a single day of training!"

"Then you better learn fast."

The next attack came faster. Izuku tried to create distance like he'd been taught, but Katsuki cut off his angles with frightening precision. Within seconds, Izuku found himself on the ground, Katsuki's practice knife pressed against his throat.

"Dead," Katsuki said flatly. "Again."

They repeated the exercise six times. Six times, Izuku ended up on the ground with a practice knife at his throat, or his chest, or once, humiliatingly, his back when Katsuki had somehow gotten behind him.

"You're not completely hopeless," Katsuki said after the sixth round, not even breathing hard while Izuku gasped for air. "Your instructor taught you solid fundamentals. But you're fighting like you're in a dojo with rules and a referee. That's going to get you killed."

"Then teach me," Izuku said between breaths.

Katsuki's eyebrows rose slightly. "What?"

"You said I need to learn fast. So teach me." Izuku pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the protest of his bruised ribs. "Show me what I'm doing wrong."

For a moment, Katsuki just stared at him. Then something shifted in his expression. Not quite respect, but maybe the beginning of it.

"Fine. But I don't go easy, and I don't coddle. You want to learn, you're going to hurt."

"I'm already hurting."

"Good. Means you're paying attention." Katsuki moved back to a neutral position. "Your biggest problem is you're trying to fight fair. There's no such thing as fair when someone's trying to kill you. You use every advantage you have. Surprise, dirty tactics, the environment, whatever it takes."

He demonstrated, showing Izuku how to target vulnerable areas without hesitation, how to use his smaller size to his advantage, how to create openings through feints and misdirection.

"You're not going to overpower most opponents," Katsuki explained, his teaching style surprisingly clear despite his harsh delivery. "So don't try. Be faster. Be smarter. Be willing to do things they won't expect."

They drilled for two hours. By the end, Izuku was drenched in sweat and covered in bruises, but he'd actually managed to score a hit…sort of. He'd feinted high, gone low, and gotten his practice knife against Katsuki's ribs before getting immediately countered and thrown to the mat.

"Better," Katsuki said, and it sounded almost like a compliment. "You're a quick study when you stop overthinking."

Izuku lay on the mat, staring at the ceiling and trying to remember how to breathe. "Is this going to be a regular thing?"

"Every morning. Five thirty. Don't be late." Katsuki pulled off his shirt, using it to wipe sweat from his face, and Izuku very deliberately looked at the ceiling instead of the expanse of toned muscle and intricate tattoos that definitely covered Katsuki's torso. "You want to survive in this world? You need to be able to defend yourself. I'm not having a liability as a partner."

"Partner?" Izuku caught the word, still staring resolutely upward.

"Potential partner. Provisional. Don't read into it." But there was something in Katsuki's tone that suggested the word choice was deliberate. "Now hit the showers. Breakfast is at seven, and you need to meet with my mother at eight."

"About what?"

"How the hell should I know? She doesn't tell me everything." Katsuki headed toward the locker room. "But if I had to guess, she's going to start teaching you about the business side of things. Can't have you be completely ignorant about how the organization works."

Izuku managed to sit up. "Bakugo?"

The heir paused, glancing back.

"Thank you. For taking the time to train me."

Katsuki's expression was unreadable. "Don't thank me yet. We're just getting started, Deku."

---

After a shower that did absolutely nothing to ease his aching muscles, Izuku made it to breakfast with five minutes to spare. The dining room was less crowded than last night, just family and a few close associates.

Kirishima waved enthusiastically from across the table. "Dude! I heard Bakugo had you training this morning. How are you not dead?"

"I'm still deciding," Izuku said, carefully lowering himself into a chair. Everything hurt.

"He only trains with people he thinks are worth the effort," Kaminari added, appearing with a plate loaded with food. "So, congrats? You've graduated from 'annoying political obligation' to 'person who might not completely suck.'"

"Kaminari," Mitsuki's voice cut across the table. "Are you gossiping about my son's training regimen again?"

"No, ma'am! Just making friendly conversation!"

"Make it quieter."

Izuku caught Katsuki's eye across the table and saw the briefest flicker of amusement before his expression returned to neutral. So he had a sense of humor. That was... interesting.

Breakfast was a relatively peaceful affair, though Izuku noticed several people watching him with calculating interest. Word had spread about last night's confrontation with Goto, apparently. And about this morning's training session.

Good. Let them talk. Let them wonder.

At precisely eight o'clock, Ashido appeared at his elbow. "Mitsuki-sama is ready for you."

Izuku followed her through the estate to an office he hadn't seen before. Unlike the traditional aesthetic of most of the compound, this room was aggressively modern: multiple computer screens, file cabinets with biometric locks, and a desk that looked like it cost more than a luxury car.

Mitsuki sat behind that desk, reviewing documents with the same intense focus Izuku had seen in Katsuki. She looked up as he entered, gesturing to a chair.

"Sit. We have a lot to cover."

Izuku sat, trying not to wince as his bruised muscles protested.

Mitsuki noticed. "My son went hard on you this morning."

"He said he doesn't go easy."

"He doesn't. But he also doesn't waste time on people he thinks will quit." She set aside her documents. "So, Midoriya Izuku. You've survived three days in hostile territory. You've made some allies, made at least one enemy, and apparently impressed my son enough that he's willing to personally train you. Not bad."

"Thank you?"

"Don't thank me yet. Now comes the harder part." She pulled up something on one of her screens. "You told my husband you understand the strategic value our families bring each other. Legitimacy for influence, legal protection for access to underground resources. But understanding strategy and implementing it are very different things."

She turned one of the screens toward him. Financial records, business structures, shell corporations nested inside legitimate holdings.

"This is a sanitized version of our actual organization structure. Sanitized because you haven't earned full access yet, but detailed enough to be useful. I'm going to teach you how we actually operate. Not the fairy tale version your father imagines, but the reality."

For the next three hours, Mitsuki walked Izuku through the labyrinthine structure of the Bakugo organization. The legitimate businesses that generated real profit. The fronts that laundered money. The protection rackets that actually provided protection. The careful balance between traditional yakuza operations and modern organized crime.

It was fascinating and terrifying in equal measure.

"The key to surviving in this world," Mitsuki explained, "is understanding that we're not just criminals playing at business. We're a business that happens to use criminal methods when necessary. There's a difference."

"What difference?"

"Criminals are shortsighted. They want quick profit, immediate gratification. Businesses think long-term. We invest in our territories, protect our assets, build sustainable operations." She pulled up another file. "This neighborhood? Ten years ago, it was a warzone. Three different syndicates fighting over it, businesses getting burned down in the crossfire, residents afraid to leave their homes."

The screen showed photographs of destruction, burned buildings, police tape.

"We took control five years ago. Look at it now."

New photographs. Clean streets, thriving businesses, families walking around freely.

"We collect protection money, yes. But we actually protect them. We mediate disputes. We keep other criminals out. We invest in community infrastructure because a prosperous neighborhood pays better than a destroyed one." Mitsuki met his eyes. "That's the difference between being a criminal and being what we are."

"And the violence?" Izuku asked quietly. "The people who don't want to cooperate?"

"We handle them." Her voice was matter-of-fact. "But we're not indiscriminate. Every act of violence costs us. Whether it be in law enforcement attention, in public opinion, or in potential retaliation. So we use it strategically, not casually."

She spent another hour showing him case studies. Territorial disputes that were resolved through negotiation. Business rivals that were acquired rather than destroyed. The occasional brutal example made of someone who stepped too far out of line.

"You need to understand," Mitsuki said as the lesson wound down, "that if you marry my son, you're not just gaining a husband. You're becoming part of this organization. You'll be expected to contribute, to handle responsibilities, to make decisions that affect hundreds of people's lives."

"I understand."

"Do you?" She leaned forward. "Because right now, you're still thinking like a civilian. You're horrified by the violence but trying to rationalize it. You're fascinated by the structure but keeping yourself emotionally distant. That won't work long-term."

"Then what should I do?"

"Decide." Her red eyes, so like Katsuki's, bore into him. "Decide if you can actually live in this world. Not tolerate it, not endure it, but genuinely accept it as your reality. Because if you can't, you need to walk away now before you get in too deep."

Izuku thought about the past three days. The fear he'd felt walking into that first meeting. The determination that had driven him to learn to shoot and fight. The careful strategy that had kept this alliance from collapsing.

He thought about Katsuki's red eyes studying him like a puzzle to be solved. The drums at two AM. The way he'd said "potential partner" like he was testing how the words sounded.

"I'm not walking away," Izuku said firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because..." He searched for the right words. "Because I could go back to my father's world. Safe, legitimate, boring. I could find some other solution to save the company. But I'd spend the rest of my life wondering what this could have been. Wondering if I gave up on something real because I was too afraid to try."

Mitsuki studied him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. It was sharp and dangerous, but genuine.

"You know what? I think you might actually survive this." She stood, indicating the meeting was over. "Same time tomorrow. We'll go deeper into the financial operations. And Midoriya?"

"Yes?"

"My son is testing you. But so am I. Don't disappoint us."

---

Izuku spent the afternoon in the estate library (yes, they had a library, because apparently even yakuza families valued education) reviewing everything Mitsuki had shown him and taking careful notes.

The leather chair creaked softly as he shifted position, his pen moving across the page in quick, precise strokes. Financial structures branched like tree diagrams. Names connected with arrows indicating relationships and hierarchies, though vague enough for him to know what he meant but if some random person read it they wouldn't have a clue what was written. Question marks littered the margins where things didn't quite add up yet.

“Protection rackets in District 4,” Izuku muttered as he wrote. “Legitimate security contracts or coercion? Check cross-reference with—”

"You're always writing in that notebook."

Izuku's pen skittered across the page, leaving an ugly slash of ink. His heart slammed against his ribs as he looked up to find Katsuki leaning against a bookshelf, arms crossed, watching him with those unreadable red eyes.

How long had he been there? How much had he seen?

"Old habit," Izuku said, fighting to keep his voice steady. He looked at the table while he closed the notebook slowly, casually, like it didn't contain every vulnerable thought he'd had since arriving. "Helps me process information."

Katsuki pushed off the bookshelf with liquid grace, closing the distance between them. "Let me see."

Izuku whipped head up, blood running cold. "What?"

"The notebook." Katsuki stopped beside the chair, close enough that Izuku had to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. He held out his hand, palm up, expectant. "Let me see it."

"It's just—it's notes. From your mother's lesson. Nothing interesting—"

"If it's nothing interesting, you won't mind showing me." Katsuki's voice was deceptively casual, but his eyes were sharp. Testing. "Or is there something in there you don't want me to see?"

Izuku's grip tightened on the notebook, knuckles going white. Every instinct screamed at him to refuse, to make some excuse, to protect the raw honesty contained in those pages. His observations about the family. His fears. His embarrassingly analytical breakdown of Katsuki himself.

Dangerous. Intelligent. Gorgeous.

Oh god, he'd written that Katsuki was gorgeous. Multiple times, apparently, because his brain had decided to betray him repeatedly.

But refusing would signal he had something to hide. Something he didn't trust Katsuki with. And wasn't that the whole problem they were trying to solve? The lack of trust, the political maneuvering, the careful masks they both wore?

“Show me this isn't just strategy”, Katsuki had said earlier. “Show me you actually give a shit.”

Slowly, feeling like he was handing over a piece of himself, Izuku extended the notebook.

Katsuki took it without comment, his fingers brushing against Izuku's for just a moment. Warm. Calloused. Gone before Izuku could fully register the contact.

Then Katsuki moved to lean against the desk a few feet away, crossing one ankle over the other in a deceptively casual pose. He opened the notebook.

Izuku watched him read, and it was torture.

Katsuki's face remained neutral, but his eyes moved across the pages with predatory focus. Izuku could track exactly where he was by the slight changes in expression. A subtle tightening around his eyes at the notes from the first meeting. The barest twitch of his lips at something. Oh god, probably the "called expectations boring" line.

The silence stretched. Izuku's hands felt empty without the notebook, useless. He clasped them together to keep from fidgeting, then realized that made him look nervous, which he was, but he didn't need to advertise it, and forced himself to rest them casually on the chair arms instead.

Katsuki turned another page. His eyebrow rose fractionally.

Izuku tried to remember what was on that page. Training notes? The observations about Mitsuki? Or, his stomach dropped, was that the page where he'd tried to work out whether what he felt for Katsuki was actual attraction or just fear and adrenaline manifesting as something else?

Katsuki's lips quirked.

"Fuck," Izuku muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Katsuki asked without looking up, still reading.

"Nothing."

"Didn't sound like nothing." Another page turned. "Sounded like you just remembered something embarrassing you wrote."

"I don't—there's nothing embarrassing in there. It's all analytical observations and strategic planning—"

Katsuki's eyes flicked up to meet his, and Izuku's words died in his throat.

"Really?" Katsuki asked, his voice dangerously soft. He looked back down at the notebook, and then, to Izuku's utter horror, he started reading aloud. "'Day One - Initial Meeting. Katsuki Bakugo: Dangerous. Intelligent. Furious but controlled.'" He paused, and Izuku wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. "'The way he looked at me wasn't just anger. It was an assessment. Challenge.'" 

Katsuki's eyes lifted again, pinning Izuku in place. "Should I keep going?"

"Please don't," Izuku managed.

"'He called expectations boring.'" Katsuki continued as if he hadn't spoken, but there was something in his voice now. Amusement? Interest? "'I need to not be boring.'" He closed the notebook, but kept one finger marking the page. "That's pretty fucking specific, Deku. Were you already trying to figure out how to impress me on day one?"

"I was trying to figure out how to survive day one," Izuku shot back, some of his composure returning now that the initial mortification was fading. "You looked like you wanted to murder me. Multiple times. I needed to understand what would keep me alive."

"And you decided 'not being boring' was the key to survival?"

"You're the one who said expectations are boring. I was just—extrapolating."

"Extrapolating," Katsuki repeated, something sharp and amused in his tone. He opened the notebook again, flipping forward a few pages. "Is that what you call this? 'Day Three - Despite my attempt at clinical detachment, Katsuki is absolutely gorgeous.'"

Izuku felt heat flood his face, burning up his neck and across his cheeks. "That was—context matters—I was just—"

"'Clinical detachment,'" Katsuki read, and now he was definitely amused. "Really selling that objectivity there."

"Can I have my notebook back now?" Izuku asked, reaching for it.

Katsuki shifted the notebook just out of reach, still leaning against the desk. "Not done yet." He flipped through more pages, his expression shifting as he read the training notes, the careful observations about estate security, the breakdown of the family's business structure. "You're fucking meticulous, and borderline coded. This is like an intelligence dossier."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Didn't say that." Katsuki kept reading, and Izuku watched the amusement fade into something more serious. More focused. When he finally looked up again, his red eyes were intense. "You're fucking terrified."

It wasn't a question, but Izuku answered anyway. "Yes."

"But you're doing it anyway."

"Yes."

"Why?" Katsuki closed the notebook but didn't hand it back. He straightened from his lean against the desk, and the change in posture made him seem somehow larger, more imposing. "You could have refused all of this. Told your father to find another solution. But you didn't. Why?"

Izuku thought about deflecting, about giving some strategic answer that would sound good without revealing too much. But Katsuki had just read his notebook. Had seen the raw honesty there, the fears and observations and embarrassingly revealing thoughts. There was no point in pretending now.

"Because I'm tired of my life being decided by other people," Izuku said quietly. The words felt heavy, like he was admitting something he'd barely acknowledged to himself. "My father chose my education, my career path, even who I was allowed to spend time with. Everything was controlled, managed, optimized for the company's benefit. I was a piece on a board, not a person making choices."

He met Katsuki's eyes and didn't look away.

"This?" He gestured around them, at the library, the estate, the life he'd stumbled into. "This is the first choice that's actually mine. To stay. To try. To build something that isn't just what someone else planned for me. Even if I was tossed into this. Even if it terrifies me. Especially because it terrifies me."

Katsuki was silent for a long moment, his gaze never wavering. Izuku could see him processing, analyzing, deciding something.

"You wrote that I'm dangerous," Katsuki said finally, his voice low.

"You are."

"You wrote that you need to not be boring."

"I do."

"You wrote—" Katsuki's voice dropped even lower, intimate in a way that made Izuku's breath catch, "—that I'm gorgeous. Past tense at first, like you were being objective. But then—" He opened the notebook again to a page near the end, and Izuku's stomach sank as he realized which entry this was, the one from earlier that day. "'Day Four - The way he moves during training. The focus in his eyes when he's teaching. The careful precision of his hands adjusting my stance. I think—'" Katsuki stopped, looking up. "You want to hear what you think, or should I spare you?"

"I think you're enjoying this too much," Izuku muttered.

"I really am." Katsuki's smile was sharp and genuine. He pushed off from the desk and crossed to where Izuku sat, closing the distance between them. "But here's the interesting part. You wrote all this, and then you wrote: 'I don't know if what I'm feeling is attraction or just intensity.’" He closed the notebook with a soft snap. "So which is it, Deku? Objectively, you find me gorgeous. But are you attracted or are you just confused?"

"I don't know," Izuku admitted, and it felt like falling and flying at the same time to say it out loud. "I don't know if what I'm feeling is attraction or just... everything else. You're overwhelming. This whole situation is overwhelming. I can't separate what's real from what's just adrenaline and fear and—"

Katsuki leaned down, bracing one hand on the armrest of Izuku's chair, the other still holding the notebook. He was right there, close enough that Izuku could see the different shades of red in his eyes, could smell whatever expensive soap he used, could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"Figure it out," Katsuki said softly, dangerously. His breath ghosted across Izuku's face, and Izuku's fingers dug into the chair arms to keep from doing something stupid like leaning forward. "Because if we're doing this, if we're actually building something real like you claim you want, I need to know you're not just performing. That you're not just playing a role to survive."

"I'm not—" Izuku started, but the words stuck in his throat because Katsuki was so close and his heart was hammering and he couldn't think straight.

"Prove it." Katsuki straightened abruptly, stepping back and taking all that overwhelming presence with him. He tossed the notebook onto Izuku's lap almost carelessly, but his eyes were still intense, still watching. "You've got three and a half weeks left. Show me this isn't just strategy. Show me you actually give a shit about more than just saving your family's company."

He turned and walked toward the door with that same liquid grace, but paused at the threshold without looking back.

"Training tomorrow. Five thirty. Don't be late." A pause, and then, quieter: "And Deku? That thing you wrote about my hands?"

Izuku's face flamed. "What about it?"

"You weren't wrong." Katsuki glanced back over his shoulder, and his smile was absolutely wicked. "About the precision part, I mean. I'm very good with my hands."

Then he was gone, leaving Izuku alone with his notebook and his racing heart and the absolutely certain knowledge that Katsuki Bakugo was going to be the death of him.

Izuku looked down at the notebook in his lap, his face still burning. His hands shook slightly as he opened it to a fresh page.

He stared at the blank paper for a long moment, pen hovering.

Then he wrote:

Day Four - I think I might actually like him. This is either the best thing that could happen or a complete disaster. Possibly both.

Definitely both.

Also, he read this entire notebook and I'm never going to live this down. Note to self: burn this before the wedding. If there is a wedding. If I survive the next three and a half weeks without dying of embarrassment.

PS - His hands really are precise.

Note to self - Focus, Izuku.

He snapped the notebook shut and pressed his palms against his overheated face.

Outside the library windows, the sun was setting over the estate, painting everything in shades of gold and red. Izuku watched the light fade and tried to untangle the knot of feelings in his chest.

Fear, yes. Strategy, definitely. But underneath all of that, growing stronger every day...

He thought about Katsuki's eyes during training this morning. The way he'd corrected Izuku's stance with surprising patience. The careful way he'd said "potential partner."

Then there were the drums at two AM that meant he couldn't stop thinking, and the way he'd leaned so close just now, close enough to kiss, close enough that Izuku had almost…

"Figure it out," Izuku muttered to himself, but he was smiling despite the embarrassment, despite the fear, despite everything. "Right. No pressure."

He had three and a half weeks to figure out if what he felt was real.

Based on the way his heart was still racing, he suspected he already knew the answer.

This was going to be a very long month.

Chapter Text

Izuku dreamed of drowning.

Not in water. In contracts and blood and the weight of red eyes watching him sink. He woke up gasping at 4:47 AM, his sheets twisted around his legs like chains, and knew immediately that going back to sleep was impossible.

Forty-three minutes until training.

He lay there in the darkness, listening to the estate wake up around him. Footsteps in distant hallways. The soft murmur of voices. Somewhere, a door closed with a decisive click. The Bakugo household rose early, and Izuku was learning to map its rhythms like a second heartbeat.

His notebook sat on the bedside table, innocuous in the dim pre-dawn light. Izuku stared at it and felt his face heat remembering yesterday. The way Katsuki had read it aloud. That wicked smile when he'd quoted the part about his hands.

"I'm very good with my hands."

"Stop," Izuku muttered to himself, pressing his palms against his overheated face. "You have training in forty minutes. Focus on not dying instead of—whatever this is."

But his mind wouldn't cooperate, replaying the moment when Katsuki had leaned so close, hand braced on the chair arm, eyes boring into his with that dangerous intensity.

"Figure it out. Show me you actually give a shit."

Izuku had three and a half weeks to prove himself. To show he could handle this world, this life, this terrifyingly attractive man who seemed determined to either break him or forge him into something stronger.

Possibly both.

At 5:15, Izuku gave up on lying in bed and got dressed. His muscles protested every movement. Yesterday's training had been brutal, and he suspected today would be worse. But he'd learned something important during those two hours on the mat: Katsuki respected effort more than natural talent. He could work with that.

He arrived at the training facility at 5:25, determined to not give Katsuki the satisfaction of pounding on his door again.

The lights were already on.

Izuku pushed open the door and froze.

Katsuki was at the drum kit, shirtless, covered in a sheen of sweat that suggested he'd been there for a while. His hands moved across the drums with that same controlled precision Izuku had noted before, organized chaos, aggressive but never sloppy. The tattoos on his back and arms rippled with each movement: traditional Japanese designs that Izuku couldn't fully make out from this distance but desperately wanted to study.

For a moment, Izuku just watched, transfixed. This was Katsuki unguarded, lost in the rhythm, his usual sharp awareness softened by whatever thoughts he was drumming through.

Then Katsuki's eyes snapped to him, and Izuku realized he'd been caught staring.

The drumming stopped abruptly.

"You're early," Katsuki said, not moving from the kit. His chest rose and fell with exertion, and Izuku very deliberately kept his eyes on Katsuki's face.

"Didn't want you pounding on my door again."

"Smart." Katsuki stood, grabbing a towel from a nearby bench and wiping his face. He didn't bother putting on a shirt, because apparently, he was trying to kill Izuku through sheer distraction. "You couldn't sleep."

It wasn't a question, but Izuku answered anyway. "No. You?"

"Never can. Not properly." Katsuki tossed the towel aside and moved toward the training mats, his movements loose and relaxed in a way Izuku had never seen before. "Drums help. Lets me think without thinking, if that makes sense."

"It does, actually. That's why I write. It organizes the chaos."

Katsuki glanced at him, something shifting in his expression. "Yeah. I figured that out yesterday when I read your entire soul laid bare in neat handwriting."

Izuku felt heat creep up his neck. "Are we ever going to move past that?"

"Absolutely not. I'm going to bring it up at random intervals for the rest of your life." Katsuki's grin was sharp. "Especially the 'gorgeous' parts. Those were my favorite."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. You wrote a whole analysis about how you might be developing actual feelings, remember?" Katsuki started stretching, and Izuku tried very hard not to notice the flex of muscles under tattooed skin. "But we can workshop your hatred if it makes you feel better."

"Can we just train? Please?"

"Sure, Deku." Katsuki straightened from his stretch, and his expression shifted from teasing to serious. "But first, real talk. How much pain are you in from yesterday?"

Izuku considered lying, then remembered how that had worked out with the notebook. "Everything hurts. Especially my ribs where you threw me."

"Good. Means you're feeling it properly." Katsuki moved closer, and suddenly his hands were on Izuku's shoulders, pressing carefully. "Here?"

"Yeah," Izuku managed, trying to ignore how warm Katsuki's hands were.

"And here?" The hands moved to his lower back.

"That's fine, actually."

"Liar." Katsuki pressed slightly harder, and Izuku couldn't suppress a wince. "Thought so. You're all locked up. Can't train properly if you can't move."

Before Izuku could ask what he meant, Katsuki's hands were guiding him down to the mat.

"Lie on your stomach."

Izuku's brain short-circuited. "What?"

"You need to stretch out those muscles before we start, or you're going to injure yourself trying to compensate." Katsuki gestured impatiently. "Down. Now. Don't make it weird."

"You're the one making it weird," Izuku muttered, but he complied, lowering himself carefully to the mat. His face pressed against the cool surface, and he tried very hard not to think about how vulnerable this position was.

Then Katsuki's hands were on his back, and thinking became impossible.

"Relax," Katsuki said, his voice closer than Izuku expected. "You're all tensed up."

"You're touching me. How am I supposed to relax?"

"By remembering this is physical therapy, not whatever your brain is making it into." But there was amusement in Katsuki's voice. His hands pressed into the muscles along Izuku's spine, finding knots and working them loose with surprising gentleness. "I'm not trying to seduce you, Deku. I'm trying to make sure you don't pull something when I throw you later."

"That's... oddly considerate."

"I'm not a complete asshole." The hands moved lower, pressing into the muscles of Izuku's lower back, and Izuku bit back an involuntary sound. "I'm an asshole with standards. There's a difference."

Despite himself, Izuku felt his body start to relax under Katsuki's hands. The pressure was firm but not painful, methodical, clearly the result of training or experience. Or both.

"Where did you learn this?" Izuku asked, his voice slightly muffled by the mat.

"Sports therapy, mostly. When you train as hard as I do, you learn to take care of your body or it breaks down." Katsuki's thumbs dug into a particularly stubborn knot, and Izuku definitely didn't whimper. "Plus, in my line of work, knowing how to cause pain means knowing how to relieve it. Two sides of the same coin."

That was... actually profound in a disturbing way.

"There," Katsuki said after another minute, his hands lifting. "Better?"

Izuku pushed himself up carefully and had to admit his back did feel better. Looser. Less like a coiled spring ready to snap.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. Now we train for real." Katsuki moved to the equipment locker, pulling out two practice knives again. He tossed one to Izuku, who caught it with more confidence than yesterday. "Today we're working on defending against multiple attackers. Because in the real world, people don't fight fair."

---

Two hours later, Izuku was absolutely certain he was going to die.

Not from the training itself, though that was brutal. No, he was going to die from embarrassment because Ashido, Kirishima, and Kaminari had apparently decided to watch the tail end of the session.

"Dude, he's actually keeping up!" Kirishima said enthusiastically as Izuku managed to evade Katsuki's strike and counter with a clumsy but functional attack of his own.

"Barely," Katsuki corrected, sweeping Izuku's legs and sending him to the mat. Again. "But better than yesterday."

"Better than most people period," Ashido added. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching with professional interest. "Most civilians would have quit after the first day."

"Deku's not most civilians." Katsuki offered Izuku a hand up, and Izuku took it, trying not to notice how easily Katsuki pulled him to his feet. "He's stubborn as hell."

"Is that a compliment?" Izuku asked, gasping for air.

"It's an observation. Don't read into it."

But Kirishima was grinning like he absolutely should read into it, and Ashido's expression suggested she was filing away intel for later, and Kaminari looked deeply amused by the whole situation.

"We came to grab you for breakfast," Kirishima said. "But this is way more entertaining."

"Training's over anyway." Katsuki tossed his practice knife back into the locker with casual precision. "Deku needs food before he passes out."

"I'm fine," Izuku protested.

"You're swaying. Food. Now." Katsuki grabbed a shirt from his gym bag and pulled it on, which was both a relief and somehow a disappointment. "And you three stop looking at me like that."

"Like what, bro?" Kirishima asked innocently.

"Like you're planning my wedding."

"We would never," Kaminari said, in a tone that suggested they absolutely would.

Breakfast was a chaotic affair. The dining room was full, apparently, mornings were when the full household gathered, and Izuku found himself seated between Kirishima and Sero, across from Kaminari and Ashido, with Katsuki at the head of the table where he could oversee everything.

"So," Kaminari said, loading his plate with an alarming amount of food, "how are you finding the estate? Besides the brutal early morning training?"

"It's... different," Izuku said carefully. "Beautiful, but intense."

"That's one way to describe living with yakuza," Sero said with a laid-back smile. "Though it could be worse. You could be dealing with the Todoroki family. Those guys are ice cold. Literally and figuratively."

"The Todorokis?" Izuku asked, his analytical mind immediately cataloging the name.

"Another syndicate," Ashido explained. "Not hostile, exactly, but not friendly either. They keep to themselves mostly. The heir, Shouto, is... complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Family drama," Kirishima said, making a face. "His old man's a piece of work. Controls everything about Shouto's life. Makes your situation look pretty good in comparison, honestly."

Izuku thought about that. About being controlled, having his life decided by others. He'd told Katsuki yesterday that this was his first real choice. Looking around this table at people who seemed genuinely interested in his integration, not just his strategic value, he thought maybe he'd made the right one.

"Has he tried to contact you?" Katsuki asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the conversation.

Izuku looked up to find red eyes focused on him with sharp intensity. "Who?"

"Your father."

"I..." Izuku realized he hadn't even thought about it. "No. I haven't tried to reach out, and he hasn't contacted me."

"Good." Katsuki's expression was unreadable. "The agreement was you stay here for the month. No outside interference while we figure this out."

"Does it bother you?" Izuku asked. "That he hasn't tried to check on me?"

Something flickered across Katsuki's face. "Should it?"

"I don't know. Maybe? Most parents would at least make sure their kid was still alive."

"Most parents don't use their kids as bargaining chips." Katsuki's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "Your father made his choice when he signed that contract. Now you get to make yours."

The table had gone quiet, everyone suddenly very interested in their food.

"What about your parents?" Izuku asked, not sure why he was pushing but unable to stop himself. "Would they use you as a bargaining chip?"

"They already did." Katsuki met his gaze steadily. "The moment I was born, I became a tool for the family. The heir. The weapon. The future of the organization. That's just how it works in this world."

"That's fucked up," Izuku said quietly.

"Yeah. It is." Katsuki's lips quirked. "But at least I get to choose who I marry, within reason. That's more freedom than most heirs get."

The implication hung in the air: I'm choosing whether to keep you.

"Speaking of choices," Ashido said, smoothly redirecting the conversation, "Midoriya, have you thought about what role you'd actually take in the organization? If things work out?"

"I've been learning the business side from Mitsuki-sama," Izuku said. "Financial structures, legitimate fronts, strategic planning."

"That's good. They need people who understand that side." Kaminari leaned forward. "But what are you actually good at? Besides analyzing everything and taking a beating from Kat."

Izuku considered that. What was he good at? "Information synthesis. Pattern recognition. I can look at disparate data points and see connections others miss."

"Intelligence work," Sero said thoughtfully. "That's actually valuable. We're always trying to stay ahead of rival syndicates, law enforcement, business competitors."

"He'd be good at it," Katsuki said, and everyone's attention snapped to him. "He sees things. Noticed our security setup his first day here. Figured out the strategic value of our alliance before we even met. Catalogued everyone at dinner and their relationships." He paused. "Plus he's got the face for it."

"My face?" Izuku repeated, confused.

"Innocent. Nonthreatening. People underestimate you." Katsuki's smile was sharp. "That's an asset in intelligence work. They'll talk around you, thinking you're not important enough to worry about."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."

"It's a tactical assessment. Take it however you want."

"So Midoriya becomes your intelligence analyst," Kirishima said, grinning. "That's actually perfect. Brains and brawn, working together. Very power-couple."

“Don't you have your own syndicate to run?” Katsuki growled out.

“Nope. I'm not the heir like you are. Tetsu took that job. He’s better at it anyways. And besides, who would miss this entertainment willingly?”

"Kirishima," Katsuki warned.

"Just saying what everyone's thinking, bro!"

"Then everyone needs to think quieter."

But Izuku noticed Katsuki didn't actually deny it.

---

After breakfast, Ashido intercepted Izuku in the hallway.

"Walk with me," she said, and it wasn't a request.

They ended up in one of the gardens, following a path that wound between carefully manicured plants and strategically placed rocks. It was beautiful and artificial in equal measure, nature controlled and shaped into exactly what the Bakugo family wanted it to be.

Izuku wondered if that was meant to be symbolic.

"You're doing better than I expected," Ashido said after a moment. "Most people would have cracked by now. The pressure, the testing, Katsuki being... Katsuki."

"I'm cracking," Izuku admitted. "I'm just doing it internally."

She laughed. "Fair enough. But here's the thing, you're not just surviving. You're adapting. Learning. Pushing back when you need to." She stopped walking, turning to face him. "That's rare. And it's caught people's attention."

"Good attention or bad attention?"

"Both. Some people think you're genuine. Others think you're playing a long game." Her expression grew serious. "Goto still wants to test you. He sees you as a threat to his position with Katsuki."

"What position? I thought he was just an enforcer."

"He's been trying to become Bakugo's right hand for years. Never quite gets there because he's too aggressive, too shortsighted. But he's dangerous, and he's got allies." Ashido's eyes were sharp. "He's going to push you. Try to make you lose your temper, or scare you into doing something stupid, or prove you don't belong here."

"What should I do?"

"Don't engage. Don't ignore him, because that shows weakness, but don't give him what he wants either." She started walking again. "Treat him with professional courtesy. Be polite, be careful, and don't ever turn your back on him."

"You're worried about me," Izuku realized.

"I'm worried about the mess if something happens to you while you're under Bakugo family protection. It would reflect badly on all of us." But her tone suggested it was more than just professional concern. "Plus, I like you. You're interesting. Most people who come here are either terrified or arrogant. You're terrified but acting anyway. That takes guts."

"Or stupidity."

"Same thing in this world, remember?" She grinned. "Come on. You've got another lesson with Mitsuki-sama in an hour. You should probably shower first. You smell like the training room."

"Thanks for that."

"Anytime!"

---

The session with Mitsuki was different today. Instead of the office, she led Izuku to a small conference room where Masaru was already waiting.

"Sit," Mitsuki said, gesturing to a chair. "Today you're going to learn about the families under our protection. Who they are, what they do, and why they matter."

For the next two hours, they walked Izuku through the complex web of relationships that made up the Bakugo organization. Small business owners who paid for protection. Larger operations that operated in legal gray areas. Families that had been allied with the Bakugos for generations.

"This man," Masaru said, pointing to a photograph, "runs a construction company. Legitimate, profitable, completely legal. He also happens to employ several of our people in positions where they can monitor building projects throughout the city. Information about new developments, where money is flowing, who's investing in what."

"Intelligence gathering," Izuku said, seeing the pattern.

"Exactly. And this woman—" Another photograph. "—owns a chain of restaurants. Also legitimate. But restaurants see and hear everything. Business deals over dinner. Drunk conversations at the bar. Patterns of behavior."

Izuku leaned forward, studying the photographs, the careful notes, the web of connections. "You've built an entire intelligence network disguised as legitimate business relationships."

"We prefer to think of it as being properly informed," Mitsuki said with a sharp smile. "Information is power. Money is temporary. Territory shifts. But if you know what's happening before anyone else does, you can always stay ahead."

"That's brilliant," Izuku said without thinking.

"Thank you. It took years to build." She pulled up more files. "Now, your job is to memorize these faces, these relationships. If you're going to work intelligence, and based on breakfast conversation, I hear that's being discussed, you need to know who these people are."

"Katsuki told you about that?"

"Katsuki tells me everything important. Eventually." Mitsuki's expression softened fractionally. "He's testing you, but he's also already planning for what comes after the test. That's a good sign."

Izuku felt something warm unfurl in his chest. Hope, maybe. Or just relief that he was making progress.

"Can I ask you something?" Izuku said.

"You can ask. I may not answer."

"Your son... has he ever been in a relationship before? Serious, I mean."

Mitsuki and Masaru exchanged a glance.

"Why do you want to know?" Mitsuki asked.

"Because I'm trying to figure out if the way he's acting toward me is normal for him, or if..." Izuku trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

"If he's interested," Masaru finished for him. "The answer is complicated. Katsuki has had... encounters. Physical relationships that served a purpose. But nothing serious. Nothing that lasted beyond a few weeks."

"Why not?"

"Because most people can't handle him," Mitsuki said bluntly. "He's intense. Demanding. Requires someone who can push back without backing down. That's a rare combination." She studied Izuku carefully. "You're the first person he's voluntarily spent this much time with outside his inner circle in years. Draw your own conclusions."

Izuku didn't know what to do with that information, so he filed it away for later analysis.

They spent another hour reviewing the protected families before Mitsuki finally called an end to the lesson.

"You're doing well," she said, and it sounded almost like praise. "Better than expected. If you keep this up, you'll be an actual asset to the organization instead of just a political necessity."

"High praise," Izuku said dryly.

"The highest you'll get from me. Don't expect more." But her eyes held approval. "Now go. Rest before dinner. You look exhausted."

Izuku made it back to his room and collapsed on the futon, his mind spinning with names and faces and connections. He should sleep. He should review his notes. He should—

His phone buzzed.

Izuku stared at it. He hadn't heard that sound in days. He'd been so disconnected from his old life that he'd forgotten he even had the device.

The text was from an unknown number:

Library. One hour. Come alone.

Izuku's heart rate spiked. This was either a test, a trap, or something worse.

He should tell someone. Ashido. Katsuki. Anyone.

But the message said come alone.

"Everything is a test," Masaru had told him.

Izuku stared at the phone for a long moment, weighing his options. Then he stood, grabbed his notebook, and started planning for multiple scenarios.

If this was a test, he'd pass it.

If it was a trap, well. At least he knew how to take a punch now.

---

The library was empty when Izuku arrived exactly one hour later. Sunset light streamed through the windows, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Beautiful and somehow ominous.

Izuku moved quietly into the room, all his senses on alert. The training was paying off, he found himself automatically checking corners, noting exits, staying light on his feet.

"You came."

Izuku spun to find Goto stepping out from behind a bookshelf. The man from dinner. The one who'd challenged him, who'd been angry about Izuku's response.

"You texted me," Izuku said, keeping his voice calm. "Though I'm curious how you got my number."

"I have my ways." Goto moved closer, and Izuku had to resist the urge to back up. Show no fear. "You and I need to talk."

"About what?"

"About you knowing your place." Goto's eyes were cold. "You think you can just walk in here, impress a few people, and everything will be fine? You think Bakugo's actually going to keep you around?"

"I think that's between him and me."

"Wrong. It's between all of us. You're a risk. An unknown. And I don't like unknowns in my organization."

"Your organization?" Izuku kept his tone neutral. "I was under the impression this was the Bakugo family organization."

Goto's jaw clenched. "Don't get smart with me, boy."

"I'm not getting smart. I'm asking for clarification." Izuku took a step to the side, maintaining distance but not retreating. "You seem to think you have authority over who joins this family. I'm curious about where that authority comes from."

"I've been with the Bakugos for fifteen years. I've bled for them. Killed for them. What have you done?"

"I've been here four days," Izuku said reasonably. "So objectively, a lot less. But then, I'm not trying to compete with you. I'm trying to figure out if I can build a life here."

"You don't belong here."

"Maybe not. But Mitsuki-sama and Katsuki-san seem willing to let me try. If you have a problem with that, perhaps you should take it up with them." Izuku met Goto's glare steadily. "Unless you're not comfortable questioning their decisions?"

It was a gamble. A risky one. But Ashido had said not to back down.

Goto took a threatening step forward, and Izuku's muscles tensed, ready to move. He wouldn't win a fight against this man. But he could create enough noise to bring help running. And maybe land a hit or two in the process.

"Is there a problem here?"

Both of them turned to find Katsuki in the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, expression deceptively casual. But his eyes were sharp, dangerous, fixed on Goto with predatory focus.

"No problem," Goto said, but his voice was tight. "Just having a conversation."

"Looked more like intimidation." Katsuki pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room. "And unless I'm mistaken, Deku is under family protection while he's here. That means you don't get to corner him in empty rooms and make threats."

"I wasn't—"

"Don't." Katsuki's voice cracked like a whip. "I know exactly what you were doing, Goto. You're pissed that I'm considering an outsider, so you thought you'd remind him that he doesn't belong. Scare him a little. Assert your dominance." He stopped next to Izuku, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "How'd that work out?"

Goto's hands clenched into fists. "He's a risk—"

"He's my decision to make. Not yours." Katsuki's tone was final. "You want to question my choices? Fine. Do it to my face in an official capacity. But you don't get to handle it yourself. Understood?"

The silence stretched taut.

Finally, Goto nodded once, sharply. "Understood."

"Good. Get out."

Goto left without another word, but the look he threw Izuku promised this wasn't over.

Once they were alone, Katsuki turned to Izuku. "You okay?"

"Yeah. He didn't touch me. Just talked."

"Still shouldn't have happened." Katsuki's jaw was tight. "How'd he contact you?"

Izuku showed him the text. Katsuki's expression darkened.

"He got your number from someone inside. I'll find out who." He looked at Izuku, and something in his expression shifted. "You should have told someone. Ashido, me, anyone."

"The message said come alone."

"And you thought that was a good idea, why, exactly?"

"Because if it was a test, failing it would have been worse." Izuku met his eyes. "Was I wrong?"

Katsuki stared at him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. It was short, sharp, genuine.

"You're going to give me a fucking heart attack, Deku." He shook his head. "But no. You weren't wrong. Goto was testing you, and you handled it. Didn't back down, didn't escalate, made him look stupid for trying." He paused. "Though for the record, if someone corners you again, I'd rather you risk failing the test than risk getting hurt."

"Noted." Izuku hesitated. "How did you know I was here?"

"Ashido saw Goto heading in this direction looking purposeful. She contacted me." Katsuki's expression was unreadable. "We've been keeping an eye on him since dinner the other night. Figured he'd try something eventually."

"So this whole thing was expected?"

"Expected, but not sanctioned. Big difference." Katsuki's hand came up, almost like he was going to touch Izuku's shoulder, then dropped back to his side. "Come on. Dinner's in twenty minutes, and you need to change. You're still wearing training clothes."

They walked back through the estate in comfortable silence. As they reached Izuku's room, Katsuki paused.

"You did good today," he said quietly. "Training. The lesson with my parents. Handling Goto. All of it."

"Thanks," Izuku said, not sure what else to say.

Katsuki nodded once and turned to leave, then stopped. "Deku?"

"Yeah?"

"That thing you said about figuring out if you can build a life here?" Katsuki's red eyes were intense in the hallway light. "Keep doing what you're doing. You're on the right track."

Then he was gone, leaving Izuku standing in his doorway with something warm and terrifying unfurling in his chest.

Inside his room, Izuku pulled out his notebook and wrote:

Day Five - Handled a confrontation. Didn't die. Katsuki showed up like it mattered. Said I did good. Said I'm on the right track.

I think I'm in trouble. The kind that has nothing to do with yakuza or arranged marriages and everything to do with red eyes and rough hands and the way he says my name like it means something.

Three and a half weeks suddenly feels like both too long and not enough time at all.

He closed the notebook and pressed it against his chest, staring at the ceiling.

"Yeah," he whispered to the empty room. "Definitely in trouble."

But for the first time since arriving, it felt like the right kind of trouble.

Chapter Text

The trouble with sharing space with the person who haunted your every waking thought was that there wasn’t anywhere to hide. Even when Katsuki wasn’t with him, Izuku found traces of him everywhere, on his skin, in the shape of his shadow, echoing in silence.

This realization grew sharper over the next few days as Izuku sank into estate life.

5:30 AM: Training with Katsuki. The world distilled into movement and intent. Katsuki’s hands ghosted over his arms and hips, correcting every imbalance with a touch that lingered just a moment longer than necessary. His voice, rough, low, occasionally slipping close to gentle, burned in Izuku’s ears. Each spar, each grapple, lined Izuku’s body with memory: the press of muscle, the way Katsuki’s breath rushed warm across his cheek, the steady pressure of hands holding steady without ever bruising.

8:00 AM: Lessons with Mitsuki and Masaru. Izuku’s notebooks filled with facts, but names and dates blurred together in the margins next to wild, distracted sketches of Katsuki’s hands. He was learning how to manage an empire. But the shape of power felt realer in the mornings, when it surged through him with every correction and touch that wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Afternoons: Ashido made “suggestions” for his time, but Izuku drifted through rival family files with half a mind, thoughts looping back to the heat in Katsuki’s gaze across the dinner table, the way his thigh pressed closer and closer each night.

Evenings: Dinner with the household. Subtle challenges wrapped in half-smiles and glances that lingered. Katsuki controlled the room without effort, voice measured but his eyes always skipping back to Izuku. He’d learned to search for meaning in every look, every sidelong brush of fingers as plates were passed.

And at 2 AM, there were the drums.

Most nights Izuku gave up on sleep, choosing to lie awake and listen to the low, insistent rhythm. Some nights he imagined the drumming was some message for him alone, a beckon, a demand. On those nights he could almost feel Katsuki’s presence, impossibly close, just outside his door. It had been a week when Izuku realized he might never outrun this tension, this constant, aching need.

---

On the eighth day, everything shifted.

He woke to pounding at his door. Katsuki’s voice, impatient and unyielding, but with a crackle of something else, anticipation, maybe.

“Get up. Not training clothes. Something you can move in and don’t mind getting dirty.”

Izuku tossed back an answer, blood rushing. Not the routine. He dressed careful but quickly. Black shirt and black cargo pants, calculated for both comfort and the unspoken need to look good under Katsuki’s scrutiny. His hands shook as he did up his boots, nervous in a way that had nothing to do with danger.

Katsuki waited in the hallway, lean and sharp in dark clothes that made him look lethal. His gaze slid over Izuku, appraising, interested. Izuku felt the urge to shiver. 

“Good. You can follow basic instructions.” Katsuki turned. “We’re going out.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Pre-dawn light bled into the halls as they left. Guards parted for them; some doors opened that Izuku hadn’t seen before. There was a car waiting, mirror-black and predatory, with Kirishima grinning behind the wheel and Ashido’s eyes sharp in the passenger seat.

“Ready for your first field trip, Midoriya?” Kirishima asked, too cheerful. Izuku slid into the back and Katsuki followed, close enough their shoulders brushed, heat radiating between them.

“You’ve learned theory. Now you’ll see what the work’s really like,” Katsuki said, voice low, watching Izuku out of the corner of his eye as Kirishima pulled them into the city.

They edged into a part of Tokyo where the lines were sharper, harder. Street signs Izuku barely understood, certain marks painted at the corners. Every time Katsuki leaned forward to point out a symbol or beckoned Izuku closer to the window, their bodies brushed, electric every time.

“This district’s been under our protection for six years,” Katsuki said, shifting into teacher mode, but way too close, leaning in so Izuku could feel the heat of his body. “Before that, it was chaos. We built this stability.”

He pointed out businesses, shops, renovated apartments, a storefront whose owner owed every good thing he was able to accomplish to the Bakugos. Izuku let the stories wash over him, but it was the way Katsuki’s eyes softened, just a little, when describing the people they protected that stuck with him.

“You care about these people,” Izuku said, not quite a question.

“They pay. We protect. It works.” But something in the set of Katsuki’s jaw said it went deeper. “A territory’s only profitable if its people thrive. Fear isn’t enough.”

They stopped in front of a ramen shop, lights just coming on for the day. Inside, a few seats, the buzz of broth boiling, an old man with kind eyes lighting up at Katsuki’s arrival.

“Bakugo-san!” He beamed. “If I’d known, I’d have prepared something special.”

Katsuki waved him off and nodded for Izuku to sit beside him. Kirishima and Ashido camped near the door, silent observers.

The old man’s gaze landed on Izuku, voice dipping conspiratorial. “Who’s this?”

“Midoriya Izuku. He’s…with me.”

The words sent Izuku’s pulse skittering, though he told himself not to read into it. “With me.” No details, no explanations, just two words heavy with more meaning than they should carry.

The old man grinned wider. “He needs the special. I only make it for people Bakugo-san brings personally.”

Katsuki muttered something, Izuku caught only “three years”, but the embarrassment in his expression was impossible to miss.

The ramen was rich and smoky, a warmth that coiled in Izuku’s chest. Next to him, Katsuki ate in silence, and Izuku was irrationally aware of the way his hand gripped the chopsticks, the way his knee pressed steady against Izuku’s under the counter. When Katsuki spoke, his voice was softer, each word pulling Izuku a little closer.

“My mom used to bring me here. Told me if I was going to lead, I had to understand who I led.” He paused with a quiet huff. “She’s right, sometimes.”

The moment stretched, easy, intimate. Izuku tried to remember when a meal had ever felt so charged, ordinary but humming. He nearly forgot the weight of this world, until their eyes met and held just a few seconds too long, and something silent passed between them.

After the meal, Katsuki led them through the territory, strolling shoulder-to-shoulder and occasionally stopping to talk with locals, a mother whose son aced his exams thanks to Bakugo-sponsored tutoring, a shopkeeper who nodded in deference but smiled warmly.

Izuku watched Katsuki in this world, confident, respected, unpredictable. Something in the way Katsuki listened, the way people looked at him, even the rough edge in his voice had Izuku’s heart pounding in his throat. It was…unfair, how alluring leadership looked on him.

“You’re staring,” Katsuki said suddenly, not glancing over.

“I’m…observing,” Izuku countered, barely holding his ground.

Katsuki made a noise, half laugh, half dare. “And what are you observing, Deku?”

“That you’re good at this,” Izuku answered, refusing to look away. “They don’t just fear you. They trust you.”

Katsuki’s stride didn’t falter, but his voice turned thoughtful. “Trust outlasts fear. My old man drilled that into me. Strategies built on terror fall apart. Respect holds together, even when things get ugly.”

They turned down a side street, and everything inside Katsuki changed, instantly tense, predatory. His hand shot out, grabbing Izuku’s arm, grip hot and possessive.

“What—?” Izuku started, but Katsuki’s glare silenced him.

Three men lingered outside a closed shop, a threat instantly apparent. Kirishima’s and Ashido’s postures stiffened, and Izuku’s skin prickled as Katsuki signaled for backup with a flick of his eyes.

“Take him back to the car,” Katsuki murmured, voice icy.

Izuku answered without thinking, “No.”

Katsuki faced him, surprise flaring. “What?”

“You brought me here to see. So let me see.” Izuku’s fear felt like static. “I’ll stay back. But I’m not running.”

Something unreadable flashed in Katsuki’s eyes, recognition, approval, maybe something more.

“Fine. Stay behind me. Do what I say.”

“Always.”

Their approach was slow, tension heavy as water. Ashido and Kirishima flanked them openly. The three men postured, tried to sell false bravado, but Katsuki’s authority was a physical thing, coiling out from him.

One of them sneered at Izuku. “That your new pet, Bakugo?”

All the warmth bled out of Katsuki as he went utterly still, a moment of dangerous silence before he struck.

In a blink, Katsuki had the scarred man against the wall, voice quieter and more lethal than Izuku had ever heard. “You talk about him again and you’ll regret it. He’s under my protection. You understand what that means?”

The threat was naked, and Izuku’s heart hammered, not just from fear, from the realization that Katsuki meant every word. That somewhere, amidst the posturing and violence, he’d become something to protect.

The men slunk away in defeat. The four of them walked back to the car in a bubble of silence. Izuku tried to slow his breathing, tried not to replay the moment Katsuki’s hand lingered too long at the small of his back, as he guided them back to the main street.

Kirishima broke the silence only once they were back on safe ground. “That got intense.”

“Testing boundaries,” Katsuki said curtly. “Won’t happen again.”

Izuku was silent, soaking it all in. He’d seen Katsuki as a leader and a protector, someone whose loyalty was steel. Their world was sharper up close, ruled by different laws, but the meaning of “with me” had rewritten itself in Izuku’s bones.

Back at the estate, Katsuki walked him to his door. For a long moment neither spoke, tension stretching until it nearly snapped.

“Thank you,” Izuku said softly. “For all of it.”

“You wanted to see what this life is. You saw.” Katsuki’s eyes bored into his. “Still think you can handle it?”

“I do,” Izuku breathed, honest, if a little unsteady.

Katsuki’s hand lingered, just inches from Izuku’s shoulder. For a split second, it hovered, and Izuku ached for him to close the distance. “You did well today,” Katsuki said, soft, rare. “You kept your head. Not everyone could.”

Izuku laughed, shaky. “I was terrified.”

“Fear’s useful. You didn’t let it stop you. That’s the difference.” Katsuki dropped his hand at last, almost regretfully. “Get some rest. Tomorrow we start weapons training.”

He turned to go, but Izuku’s voice caught him. “Bakugo-san?”

Katsuki paused in the hallway, looking over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“What you said back there. About…protection. About me.” Izuku forced himself to hold steady. “Did you mean it?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Katsuki replied, and there was a challenge woven through it, daring Izuku to believe.

Izuku nodded, caught by the gravity in Katsuki’s gaze. Neither spoke. Heat charged the narrow distance between them, a weight of possibilities unspoken.

“Goodnight, Deku,” Katsuki said at last, voice gone rough, almost gentle.

“Goodnight.” Izuku replied as he opened his door and stepped inside. He learned his back against the closed door and stood there long after he closed it, breath unsteady, skin tingling where a touch had almost landed but didn’t.

---

Sleep was impossible. At 2 AM, the drums broke through the silence, low and relentless. Izuku found himself walking the halls, only dressed in a loose t-shirt, sweatpants and barefoot, drawn by the rhythm.

He leaned against the wall next to the door of the training room for ages, just listening. The pounding, the heat, the desperation of it. 

The beats tonight weren’t just loud, they were agitated, spinning fast. Each jagged rhythm felt like something working itself out through muscle memory and sweat.

Taking a deep breath, Izuku straightened and finally pushed the door open, as quiet as he could and stepped inside.

Katsuki stopped mid-beat, hair wild and eyes catching the low light like an animal. He looked up. Shirtless, sweat gleaming on his skin.

He looked at Izuku from across the room, startled, wary, drawn.

“Can’t sleep?” Katsuki asked softly.

“The drums.” Izuku’s voice was steady, but the space between them hummed. “They’re different tonight.”

Katsuki’s eyes trailed over him, sharp and full of things he wouldn’t say. “Yeah? How so?”

Izuku took a few steps closer, braver than he felt. “Restless. Like you’re working something out you can’t say.”

A quick flicker of a smile, but Katsuki’s gaze didn’t waver. “You get all that just from listening?”

“I do.” Izuku stopped at the edge of the mat, heart in his throat. “At least when it’s you playing.”

He stared, hoping Katsuki would close the gap, just a little more.

“Dangerous observation,” Katsuki rasped. “What else do you think you know?”

Izuku’s answer hovered unsaid, scorching the back of his tongue. Something passed between them, offered, and seemingly accepted, but never spoken.

For a moment, Katsuki looked like he was going to say more, maybe even stang up and reach for him. His hand twitched, fingers flexing like he wanted the excuse, and Izuku wanted to give him permission.

Izuku felt like it was hard to breath, and suddenly his mind was filled with imagines of Katsuki standing up, closing the distance between them. Him reaching up, hand brushing Izuku's jaw as if he was made of glass. Izuku mentally shook himself to remove the image. 

The air between them was thick, heat and longing spiraling up until Izuku almost ached with it, even with the image gone.

Katsuki’s voice dropped. “It’s late. You should get some rest.”

Izuku nodded, but didn’t move.

“Tomorrow, we’re back to training hard,” Katsuki said, almost apologetic.

“I figured.” Izuku finally forced a step back, but his eyes stayed locked on Katsuki’s. “I just…wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Not sure what that means for me anymore,” Katsuki admitted, raw. “But I’m working on it.”

Izuku almost said something reckless, something like, I want to be here when you figure it out. But the moment passed, and instead their eyes lingered, holding.

“If you want company some night,” Izuku said, voice tight, “while you drum…”

Katsuki’s expression flickered, surprise, then something softer and unguarded. “Rain check,” he said after a beat. “But ask again.”

Something in Izuku was screaming to reach out and touch Katsuki. Instead he turned to go, replaying the look in Katsuki's eyes over and over again in his mind. It was enough to set Izuku’s nerves blazing and fuel fantasies he's never contemplated on having. 

Back in his room, Izuku opened his notebook. His hands shook as he wrote:

Day Eight: Everything’s different.

Saw him in his world. Saw what protection really means. Came back raw and restless. Found him drumming at 2 AM, just us, no more pretense.

Wanted to touched and to be touched, almost confessed. The tension between us is killing my sanity.

I’m terrified. I want more. Maybe he does, too.

Three weeks left, and it’s barely enough.

That's all it took. Eight days to make my world turn completely on its axis.

He closed the notebook, clutching it to his chest, a wild, irrepressible hope growing in the center of all the fear.

Tomorrow would be hard. 

Chapter Text

Izuku woke to silence.

No pounding on his door. No Katsuki's voice barking orders. He checked the clock: 5:45 AM. Fifteen minutes past when training usually started.

His heart sank with immediate, irrational worry. Was Katsuki okay? Had something happened? Or worse, had Izuku crossed a line last night, standing in that doorway, offering company during the 2 AM drums?

He dressed quickly and headed to the training facility, only to find it empty. The drum kit sat silent in the corner, no trace of the restless energy that had filled the space hours before.

"Looking for Katsuki?"

Izuku turned to find Ashido leaning against the doorframe, expression unreadable.

"Training," he said simply.

"He left early this morning. Took Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero with him." She walked into the room, arms crossed. "Some business that came up suddenly. Won't be back until late tonight."

"Oh." Izuku tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. "Did he say what kind of business?"

"The kind he doesn't tell me about, which means it's either very boring or very dangerous." Ashido's eyes were sharp. "You're off the hook for training today. Mitsuki-sama wants to see you at nine instead of your usual time."

The rest of the morning felt wrong without the familiar rhythm. Izuku's muscles didn't ache from training. His mind wasn't occupied with defensive patterns and counterstrikes. Even breakfast was quieter, the core group gone, leaving only household staff and a few associates who eyed Izuku with varying degrees of curiosity.

By the time he made it to Mitsuki's office, he was so tense he could practically hear his joints groaning with movement.

"Midoriya-san." Mitsuki gestured for him to sit, but her expression was troubled. "We need to discuss something."

"Is Bakugo-san okay?"

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "He's fine. This isn't about him directly." She pulled up something on her screen. "It's about you. Or rather, about what people are saying about you."

Izuku's stomach dropped. "What kind of things?"

"Your notebook." Mitsuki turned the screen toward him. It showed a message thread, screenshots of text conversations between various family members. "People have noticed you writing in it constantly. Some are... concerned about what you might be recording."

"It's just notes," Izuku said, but his hands had gone cold. "Observations. Things I'm learning."

"I know that. You know that. But others see a civilian, someone not fully trusted yet, keeping detailed records of our operations, our people, our security." Mitsuki's voice was matter-of-fact, not accusatory, but serious. "There are rumors spreading that it's evidence. That you're building a case against us. That this whole month is an elaborate intelligence operation."

"That's insane," Izuku protested. "I'm trying to learn, to integrate—"

"I believe you. But belief isn't the same as proof, and in this world, perception matters as much as truth." She leaned back. "The situation is delicate. Goto has been fanning the flames, naturally. He's convinced several of the more paranoid associates that you're a threat."

Izuku thought about his notebook, about every honest observation and embarrassing admission contained in those pages. About how Katsuki had read it and understood. But Katsuki wasn't here to defend him now.

"What do you suggest I do?"

"That depends on what you want to accomplish." Mitsuki studied him carefully. "You could ignore it, let Katsuki handle it when he returns. You could address it quietly, one-on-one conversations. Or—" she paused, "—you could face it directly. Call a meeting. Address everyone's concerns at once."

"A meeting?" Izuku's mind raced through the implications. "Like the family dinner?"

"Bigger. Everyone who has concerns, everyone who's been talking. Put it all on the table and deal with it." Her expression was unreadable. "It's risky. If you handle it wrong, you'll confirm their suspicions. But if you handle it right..."

"It could end the rumors permanently," Izuku finished. His hands trembled slightly. This was a test. Another one. Always another one. "Can you call the meeting?"

"I can. But are you sure? Katsuki isn't here to—"

"I'm sure." Izuku's voice was steadier than he felt. "If people think I'm hiding something, silence only makes it worse. Better to address it now. Besides, I can't always hide behind Bakugo-san. If I want these people's respect, I need to handle it myself. Without him."

Mitsuki's lips curved into something that might have been approval. "Very well. I'll arrange it for this evening. Six o'clock in the main hall."

---

The hours until the meeting crawled by with agonizing slowness. Izuku spent them in his room, staring at his notebook, thinking about what he would say.

The notebook represented everything he'd learned, everything he'd felt, everything he'd become in just over a week. It was his anchor in a world that still felt foreign and overwhelming. The idea of destroying it made his chest ache.

But if that's what it took to prove himself...

Ashido found him at five-thirty, dressed formally for the meeting.

"You sure about this?" she asked quietly. "It's not too late to back out."

"I'm sure." Izuku straightened his tie, trying to project confidence he didn't fully feel. "Though I could use some advice."

"Don't show weakness. Don't apologize for things you didn't do wrong. And—" she hesitated, "—remember that half the people in that room want you to succeed. Focus on them, not the ones looking for reasons to tear you down."

"Half want me to succeed?"

"More, actually. You've impressed people, Midoriya. Not everyone, but enough that this meeting matters." She smiled slightly. "Now come on. Time to face the firing squad."

The main hall was larger than the dining room, designed for important gatherings. When Izuku entered, at least thirty people were already present, seated in a semi-circle facing a small raised platform. Mitsuki and Masaru sat in the front row, their expressions neutral. Goto was near the back, arms crossed, looking satisfied.

No Katsuki. No Kirishima. No Kaminari or Sero. His allies were gone, leaving him to face this alone.

Izuku's hands wanted to shake. He clenched them into fists and walked to the platform.

"Thank you all for coming," Mitsuki said, standing. "Midoriya Izuku has requested this meeting to address concerns that have been raised about his presence here. I expect everyone to listen respectfully and save questions for after he's finished."

She sat down, and suddenly all eyes were on Izuku.

He took a breath. Thought about Katsuki's training, about keeping his center even under pressure. About the way trust outlasted fear.

"I understand there are rumors about my notebook," Izuku began, his voice carrying clearly through the hall. "That some of you believe I'm collecting evidence against this family. That I'm not trustworthy. That I don't belong here."

He pulled the notebook from his jacket pocket, holding it up so everyone could see.

"This notebook contains observations about the Bakugo organization. About security measures, business structures, family relationships. It contains my thoughts about the people I've met, the lessons I've learned, and my own fears about whether I can succeed in this world."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Goto leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

"Some of you are right to be suspicious," Izuku continued. "I am an outsider. I was brought here under circumstances that started with deception from my father. I don't have the history or the blood ties that bind you all together. All I have is—" he held up the notebook again, "—this. My attempt to understand a world I didn't grow up in."

He paused, meeting eyes around the room. Some hostile, some curious, some sympathetic.

"But I understand now that my learning process has made some of you uncomfortable. That detailed observations from an outsider feel like a threat, not an asset. And that's fair. Trust isn't given freely here. It's earned."

Izuku looked down at the notebook in his hands, felt its weight, everything it represented.

"So I want to prove something to you all."

He pulled a lighter from his pocket, borrowed from Ashido earlier, though she'd looked confused about why he needed it, and flicked it open.

The flame caught immediately, small and bright in the dim hall.

"If my notes make you uncomfortable enough to spread rumors, to question my intentions, then I don't need them anymore."

Without another word, without hesitation or ceremony, Izuku held the notebook to the flame.

The pages caught quickly, curling and blackening. The careful observations about security measures, gone. The family trees he'd memorized, ash. The financial structures, the business relationships, the strategic analyses…all of it burning away in his hands.

And deeper, more painful, the honest admissions about Katsuki. The observations about gorgeous red eyes and dangerous smiles. The documented journey from terror to something that felt dangerously close to affection. His anchor, his processing tool, his way of making sense of everything, consumed by fire.

Gasps echoed through the hall as Izuku let the burning notebook fall to the platform floor, watching it reduce to ashes.

When the flames died, leaving only charred remains, Izuku looked up at the assembled crowd.

"Everything I learned is still in my head," he said quietly. "Destroying the notebook doesn't change that. But I want you all to understand something: I'm not here to collect evidence or build a case. I'm here because I'm trying to become part of this family. And if burning my notes helps prove that, then they weren't as important as I thought they were."

The silence that followed was absolute.

"For the past week, I've trained with Bakugo-san every morning. I've learned your business operations from Mitsuki-sama and Masaru-san. I've met the families under your protection and seen what that protection actually means. I've been tested, challenged, threatened, and pushed beyond what I thought I could handle." Izuku's voice grew stronger. "And I'm still here. Still trying. Still choosing this life even when I'm terrified of it."

He looked at Goto specifically. "Some of you will never trust me. That's fine. I can't control what you think. But I can control my actions. And my action today is this: no more hiding behind notes and observations. If I'm going to be part of this family, I need to be present, not documenting. Living it, not just studying it."

Mitsuki stood slowly, her expression unreadable. Then she slowly smiled.

Masaru stood and addressed everyone. "Does anyone have questions for Midoriya-san?"

An older woman in the third row raised her hand. "What did you write about us? Before you burned it?"

"Mostly that you're more complex than I expected," Izuku answered honestly. "That this organization isn't just criminals playing at business, but people trying to build something sustainable. That the violence is real, but so is the protection and the community." He paused. "And that I was terrified of messing this up, but determined to try anyway."

"What about the heir?" someone else called out. "What did you write about him?"

Izuku felt heat rise in his face but didn't look away. "That he's brilliant and dangerous and more patient as a teacher than I expected. That he sees through every defense mechanism I try to use. That spending time with him is both the most challenging and most..." he searched for a word that wasn't too revealing, "...interesting part of being here."

Scattered chuckles rippled through the crowd. Even Mitsuki's lips twitched slightly.

A few more questions followed, practical things about his role, his skills, his commitment to the arrangement. Izuku answered each one as honestly as he could, aware that every word was being weighed and measured.

Finally, Mitsuki raised a hand for silence.

"I think that's sufficient for tonight. Thank you all for coming." She looked at Izuku with something that might have been respect. "And thank you, Midoriya-san, for addressing this directly."

People began filing out, some stopping to nod at Izuku or offer brief words of encouragement. Others left without acknowledgment. Goto was one of the last to leave, his expression dark but saying nothing.

When the hall was nearly empty, Ashido approached with a strange look on her face.

"That was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid," she said.

"Probably both," Izuku admitted, staring at the ashes on the platform. His hands felt empty without the notebook. Naked, exposed. "Did I make it worse?"

"No. You made it real." She squeezed his shoulder briefly. "Most people would have made excuses or blamed others. You took responsibility and showed them you're willing to sacrifice something important to prove yourself. That matters here."

"It's just a notebook," Izuku said, but his voice cracked slightly on the words.

"We both know it was more than that." Ashido's expression softened. "But you made the right call. Sometimes you have to burn something down to build something better."

After she left, Izuku stood alone in the empty hall, staring at the ashes. Everything he'd carefully documented, every observation and fear and hope… gone.

But the memories remained, and those didn't need to be written down to be real.

---

It was past midnight when Izuku finally headed back to his room, exhausted from the emotional toll of the meeting. The estate was quiet, most people asleep, the hallways lit only by subtle nighttime lighting.

He was halfway down the corridor when he heard footsteps behind him, quick, purposeful.

Izuku turned to find Katsuki striding toward him, still dressed in dark outdoor clothes, hair windswept, expression intense.

"You're back," Izuku said, relief flooding through him.

"Just got in. Mina filled me in on what happened." Katsuki stopped just in front of him, close enough that Izuku could see exhaustion around his eyes. "You burned your notebook."

"The rumors—"

"I heard about the fucking rumors." Katsuki's voice was tight, controlled fury barely leashed. "I should have been here. Should have dealt with it before it got to that point."

"You had business—"

"Nothing more important than this… than you." The words came out harsh, but Izuku heard the worry underneath. "Show me."

"Show you what?"

"Your hands."

Confused, Izuku held out his hands. Katsuki took them immediately, turning them over with surprising gentleness, examining them in the dim hallway light. His thumbs brushed across Izuku's palms, checking for burns.

"I was careful," Izuku said softly, acutely aware of the warmth of Katsuki's hands around his. "I didn't get hurt."

"Good." But Katsuki didn't let go. His red eyes lifted to meet Izuku's, intense and unreadable. "That notebook. What else was in it besides observations?"

Izuku's heart hammered. "You read it. You know what was in it."

"I read up through day four. What did you write after that?" Katsuki's grip tightened fractionally. "After the field trip? After last night?"

The hallway felt impossibly small, the air between them charged with everything unspoken.

"Things I probably shouldn't have written," Izuku admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Things that would have been really embarrassing if anyone else had read them."

"Like what?"

"Like—" Izuku couldn't look away from those eyes, "—like trying to figure out if what I feel when I'm around you is just fear and adrenaline, or something else entirely."

Katsuki went very still. "And? What did you figure out?"

"That I don't know. That it's terrifying either way. That I can't stop thinking about you even when I should be focused on literally anything else." The words tumbled out, reckless and honest. "That I stood in the training room last night wanting you to close the distance and knowing I had no right to want that. That I—"

He cut himself off, but Katsuki's eyes had gone dark, intense in a way that made Izuku's breath catch.

"That you what, Deku?"

The nickname sounded different now. Not mocking or challenging, but almost affectionate. Intimate.

"That I'm in trouble," Izuku finished. "The kind that has nothing to do with yakuza or arranged marriages and everything to do with you."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Katsuki still held Izuku's hands, thumbs now tracing absent patterns across his palms. The touch was hypnotic, grounding and electrifying at once.

"You burned something important tonight," Katsuki said finally, his voice rough. "Proved yourself in front of everyone. You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did. The rumors—"

"Fuck the rumors. I would have handled them." Katsuki's grip tightened. "But you stood there alone and made a choice. Sacrificed something that mattered to prove a point. That took guts, Deku."

"Or stupidity."

"Same thing in this world." A ghost of a smile crossed Katsuki's face. "Three and a half weeks left. You're making this really fucking difficult."

"Difficult how?"

"Difficult to keep my distance. To stay objective. To remember this started as a political arrangement and not—" He stopped, jaw clenching.

"Not what?" Izuku asked, barely breathing.

Katsuki's eyes searched his face, and Izuku saw the moment he made a decision. Saw the walls come down, just a fraction.

"Not something I actually want," Katsuki said quietly, roughly.

The confession hung between them, fragile and dangerous.

"I want that too," Izuku admitted. "I'm terrified of it, but I want it."

Katsuki's thumb brushed across Izuku's wrist, right over his racing pulse. "Fear's not always a bad thing. Means you're taking it seriously."

"I am. I'm taking all of this seriously." Izuku's voice shook slightly. "You, this life, everything."

"I know." Katsuki's expression softened, just barely. "That's why you're still here."

They stood there in the dim hallway, hands still clasped, the world narrowed down to just the two of them. Izuku wanted to close the remaining distance, wanted to test whether the heat between them was just in his imagination or something Katsuki felt too.

But Katsuki stepped back, releasing his hands with obvious reluctance.

"Get some rest. Training tomorrow at five-thirty. And Deku?" His eyes held a promise. "Next time there's a meeting like that, I'll be there. You don't face that shit alone anymore."

He turned to leave, but Izuku's voice stopped him.

"Katsuki?"

The use of his first name, without any honorific, made him pause and look back.

"Thank you. For checking on me. For caring about—" Izuku gestured vaguely, "—all of this."

"Don't thank me yet." But Katsuki's expression was warm, almost tender. "We've still got three and a half weeks to get through."

Then he was gone, disappearing down the hallway toward his own room, leaving Izuku standing alone with his racing heart and empty hands.

Izuku looked down at his palms, where Katsuki's thumbs had traced patterns across his skin. The touch lingered like a brand, warm and indelible.

He headed to his room and collapsed on the futon, staring at the ceiling. Without his notebook, his thoughts felt scattered, unanchored. But maybe that was the point. Maybe he needed to stop documenting and start living.

The memory of Katsuki's hands around his, the way his voice had gone rough when he said "something real," the promise in his eyes—those things were more vivid than any written observation could capture.

At 2 AM, the drums started.

But this time, the rhythm was different. Not agitated or restless, but steady, almost peaceful. Like something had been resolved, or at least acknowledged.

Izuku listened in the darkness and smiled.

Three and a half weeks left. For the first time since arriving at the estate, Izuku felt like he knew exactly where he stood and exactly what he was fighting for.

Not just survival. Not just alliance.

For a future.

And he was willing to burn down every defense mechanism, every careful observation, every safety net he'd built to achieve it.

Chapter Text

Izuku learned that weapons training with Katsuki was an entirely different beast than hand-to-hand combat.

For one thing, it started at 4:30 AM instead of five-thirty, because apparently Katsuki believed in incrementally destroying Izuku's sleep schedule.

For another, it took place in the underground range Izuku had glimpsed but never entered. A concrete bunker beneath the estate that smelled like gun oil and cordite, soundproofed well enough that you could scream and no one above would hear.

The first thing he thought was the room should have been more terrifying than it was.

The second thing was why they didn't soundproof the ground level training gym where the drum set was. 

"You said you spent a day at a gun range," Katsuki said, laying out an array of weapons on the table between them. Handguns, mostly, but also a few other things Izuku couldn't immediately identify. "Show me what you remember."

Izuku picked up the Glock 19, the same model he'd trained with. His hands remembered the weight, the grip, the balance. He checked the chamber automatically, empty, then ejected the magazine. Also empty.

"Good," Katsuki said, watching him with those sharp red eyes. "You're not completely hopeless. Load it."

He slid a magazine across the table. Izuku loaded it with only slightly fumbling fingers, his heart rate picking up despite the intellectual knowledge that they were just training.

"Now, stance."

Izuku moved into position, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, the way the instructor at the Monoma family range had shown him. He raised the weapon, arms extended, focusing on the target downrange.

"Better than I expected," Katsuki said, moving behind him. "But you're too tense. You're going to tire yourself out before you even fire."

Then Katsuki's hands were on him, one on his shoulder, one on his hip, adjusting his position with the same careful precision he used during hand-to-hand training. Except this time, Izuku was holding a loaded weapon, and the combination of danger and proximity made his pulse skip erratically.

"Breathe," Katsuki murmured, close enough that Izuku felt the words against his ear. "You're holding your breath. That's going to fuck up your aim."

Izuku exhaled shakily, trying to focus on the target and not on the heat of Katsuki's body so close to his own.

"Good. Now, when you're ready. Don't rush it."

Izuku squeezed the trigger.

The recoil jarred through his arms, the sound explosive even with ear protection. The target, a standard human silhouette, showed a new hole, slightly left of center mass.

"Not bad," Katsuki said, still close. "Again. But this time, don't anticipate the recoil. Let it surprise you."

They drilled for an hour. By the end, Izuku's arms ached and his ears rang faintly, but his grouping had improved significantly. More importantly, the weapon felt less foreign in his hands. Still dangerous, still a tool he hoped never to use outside this range, but no longer quite so alien.

"You're a better shot than a fighter," Katsuki observed, collecting the weapons and locking them away with practiced efficiency. "Probably because shooting is more about focus and control than raw physical ability."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's an observation." But Katsuki's lips quirked. "Though yeah, I guess it is. You're not half-bad when you stop overthinking."

They headed upstairs as dawn light started filtering through the estate's windows. Izuku expected Katsuki to dismiss him for breakfast, but instead he gestured toward a side hallway.

"Come on. I want to show you something."

Curious, Izuku followed. They wound through parts of the estate he hadn't seen before, past guard stations and security checkpoints where people nodded respectfully to Katsuki. Finally, they reached a door that required both a keycard and biometric scan.

"This is the operations center," Katsuki said as the door clicked open. "The heart of everything we do."

Inside was something that looked like a fusion of a corporate office and a military command center. Multiple screens displayed various feeds. Street cameras, building interiors, what looked like financial data. Half a dozen people worked at different stations, most looking up as Katsuki entered.

"Morning, boss," a young woman with purple hair said, not looking away from her screens. "We've got movement in District Seven. Looks like the Shinsou family is testing boundaries again."

‘Shinsou? Why does that sound familiar,’ Izuku thought 

"Handle it," Katsuki said. "Show them we're watching, but don't escalate unless they push further."

"Got it."

Izuku watched, fascinated, as Katsuki moved through the room, checking different stations, asking questions, making decisions with calm authority. This was leadership in action, not the dramatic confrontations or the violence, but the daily work of managing an organization.

"This," Katsuki said, gesturing to the screens, "is what most people don't see. Everyone thinks yakuza means fighting and threats and dramatic bullshit. But ninety percent of what we do is this. Information management. Strategic planning. Making sure problems get solved before they become emergencies."

He pulled up a chair at an empty workstation and gestured for Izuku to sit beside him. The screen showed a complex web of connections, people, places, businesses, all linked together with various colored lines.

"This is our intelligence network," Katsuki explained. "Every protected business, every allied family, every person who owes us favors or loyalty. We monitor it constantly, looking for patterns, threats, opportunities."

Izuku leaned forward, his analytical mind immediately engaging. He could see the structure, the way information flowed, the nodes of particular importance.

"This business here," he said, pointing to one connection that seemed oddly isolated. "It's connected to your network, but barely. Why?"

Katsuki's eyes sharpened. "How did you notice that?"

"It's receiving protection but not providing anything in return. No information flow, no resource sharing. It's a dead end." Izuku traced the connections with his finger. "Either they're not trustworthy enough to integrate fully, or they're hiding something."

"Both, actually. We're watching them." Katsuki pulled up more data. "They paid for protection six months ago. Haven't missed a payment, haven't caused problems. But they also haven't provided any useful intelligence, which is suspicious for a business in their industry."

"What industry?"

"Shipping and logistics. They should be seeing everything, what's moving, where it's going, who's buying what. But they give us nothing." Katsuki's expression was thoughtful. "What would you do about it?"

Izuku considered. "Test them. Send something through their operation that you can track. See if the information goes where it should or if it disappears. If they're feeding intelligence to someone else, that would expose it."

"Not bad." Katsuki pulled up another screen. "We were thinking the same thing. Want to help plan it?"

"Really?"

"You said you're good at pattern recognition and information synthesis. Let's see if that's true or if you were just talking." But there was a challenge in Katsuki's voice, the kind that made Izuku want to prove himself.

They spent the next two hours working through scenarios. Izuku suggested approaches, Katsuki poked holes in them or expanded on good ideas. The people working around them occasionally chimed in with information or logistics concerns. It was collaborative in a way Izuku hadn't expected. More think tank than criminal enterprise.

"This could work," Katsuki said finally, reviewing the plan they'd developed. "We'll implement it next week. If you're right about them, we'll know within seventy-two hours."

Pride bloomed warm in Izuku's chest. "And if I'm wrong?"

"Then we've run a drill and confirmed they're trustworthy. Either way, useful information." Katsuki stood, stretching. "Come on. We've missed breakfast, but the kitchen should have something."

As they walked back through the estate, Izuku's mind buzzed with everything he'd seen. The operations center was impressive, but more than that, it represented a world he could actually contribute to. Not through violence or intimidation, but through the skills he'd spent his whole life developing.

"Thank you," Izuku said as they reached the main corridor. "For showing me that. For letting me help."

"You've got a brain. Might as well use it." Katsuki paused, looking at him with an intensity that made Izuku's breath catch. "You fit here better than I expected, Deku. In ways that matter more than just whether you can throw a punch."

Before Izuku could respond, voices echoed from around the corner. Katsuki's expression shifted immediately, going alert and focused.

They turned the corner to find Mitsuki in a heated conversation with a man Izuku didn't recognize. He was probably in his fifties, well-dressed, with cold eyes and a scar running down the left side of his face. Several guards flanked him, and the tension in the air was palpable.

"—don't care about your timeline," Mitsuki was saying, her voice icy. "The agreement was clear."

"Agreements change when circumstances change," the man replied. His eyes flicked to Katsuki, then to Izuku, lingering with calculation. "And circumstances have changed significantly, haven't they?"

Katsuki moved forward, placing himself slightly in front of Izuku in a gesture that was both protective and possessive. "Endeavor. What are you doing here?"

Endeavor. The name clicked in Izuku's memory, the head of the Todoroki family. Todoroki Enji, also known as Endeavor. One of the most powerful yakuza patriarchs in Tokyo, known for his ruthless control and ambitious expansion plans.

"Discussing business with Mitsuki-san," Endeavor said smoothly. "Though I'm intrigued by this development." His gaze settled on Izuku. "This must be the mysterious Midoriya heir. The one who's going to cement your alliance through marriage."

"That's not your concern," Katsuki said flatly.

"On the contrary. Any significant shift in the power structure concerns all of us." Endeavor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "A Midoriya-Bakugo alliance changes the landscape considerably. Some of us are curious about whether that alliance will actually materialize, or if it's just political theater."

"It's not theater," Izuku heard himself say, before he could think better of it.

Endeavor's attention focused on him like a predator scenting prey. "Bold words from someone who's been here less than two weeks. Tell me, Midoriya-san, do you actually understand what you're agreeing to? Or are you just another pawn in your father's schemes?"

"I understand perfectly," Izuku said, keeping his voice steady despite his racing heart. "And I'm here because I choose to be, not because anyone forced me."

"Choice." Endeavor laughed, sharp and humorless. "How refreshing. My own son doesn't have the luxury of choice. Perhaps I should have arranged a marriage alliance with the Midoriyas instead. At least then the heir would be properly...compliant."

Something dangerous flashed across Katsuki's face. "Watch it, old man."

"Just making conversation." Endeavor turned back to Mitsuki. "Think about my proposal. We could accomplish much more working together than competing."

"I'll consider it," Mitsuki said, though her tone suggested she'd already made up her mind. "Now if you're finished, we have business to attend to."

It was clearly a dismissal. Endeavor inclined his head, the gesture just this side of mocking, and departed with his guards.

Once he was gone, the tension in the corridor eased fractionally.

"That was Endeavor," Mitsuki said unnecessarily. "He's been pushing for a larger alliance between our families for months. Wants to create a unified syndicate that controls most of Tokyo."

“There's got to be a reason you have declined," Izuku stated. "A unified syndicate would be strategically beneficial, so there's more to it than what is being said."

"You're right. It's because Enji Todoroki doesn't do alliances. He does acquisitions." Mitsuki's expression was grim. "Any 'alliance' with him would end with the Bakugo family subsumed into the Todoroki organization. We'd lose our independence, our identity, everything we've built."

"Plus he's an abusive piece of shit," Katsuki added bluntly. "Treats his own family like assets to be managed. His wife had a breakdown years ago. His two oldest sons won't even speak to him. And his heir, Shouto—" He shook his head. "That kid's been controlled and manipulated his whole life. Endeavor's trying to shape him into some perfect weapon."

Izuku thought about what Kirishima had said at breakfast over a week ago, about how Shouto's situation made Izuku's look good by comparison. Suddenly, he understood.

"He sees people as tools," Izuku said quietly.

"Exactly." Mitsuki's eyes were sharp. "Which is why we'll never ally with him. But he's going to keep pushing, especially now that he knows about your presence here. He'll see it as competition, a threat to his plans."

"Am I making things more complicated for you?" Izuku asked.

"Everything's complicated in this world. At least you're a useful complication." Mitsuki's lips quirked slightly. "Now, both of you, go eat something. You've been working for hours."

As they headed toward the kitchen, Katsuki was unusually quiet. Izuku could practically see him thinking, working through implications and strategies.

"You okay?" Izuku asked.

"Endeavor showing up isn't a coincidence. He's testing us, seeing how secure this alliance really is." Katsuki's jaw was tight. "He'll push harder if he thinks there's weakness."

"Then we don't show weakness."

"We?" Katsuki glanced at him.

"We," Izuku confirmed. "You said I don't face things alone anymore, remember?"

Something shifted in Katsuki's expression, warming. "Yeah. I did say that."

They found the kitchen blessedly empty except for the head chef, who took one look at their exhausted faces and immediately started cooking without asking what they wanted.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing to the counter. "You both look half-dead."

They sat, and for a few moments, neither spoke. The comfortable silence was punctuated only by the sounds of cooking, sizzling, chopping, the low bubble of broth.

"That thing you said to Endeavor," Katsuki said finally. "About choosing to be here. Did you mean it?"

Izuku didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Even knowing it's going to get more complicated? That people like Endeavor are going to see you as a weakness to exploit or a threat to eliminate?"

"Especially knowing that." Izuku met his eyes. "I didn't come here to have an easy life. I came here to have a real one."

Katsuki stared at him, something intense and searching in his gaze. Then, without warning, he smiled. Not the sharp, challenging smile Izuku had grown accustomed to, but something genuine and almost soft.

"You're really fucking something, Deku. You know that?"

Before Izuku could respond, the chef placed steaming bowls in front of them, miso soup with tofu, alongside rice and grilled fish. Simple, comforting, exactly what they needed.

They ate in companionable silence, sitting almost intimately close at the counter. Izuku was acutely aware of every point of almost-contact, every brush of movement.

"Three weeks left," Katsuki said quietly, not looking at him.

"I know."

"You're going to stay. Aren't you?"

It wasn't really a question, but Izuku answered anyway. "If you'll have me."

Katsuki's hand moved on the counter, fingers stopping just short of touching Izuku's. "I'm starting to think I don't have much choice in the matter."

"You always have a choice."

"Not when you keep doing shit like burning your notebook and standing up to Endeavor and fitting into my world like you were made for it." Katsuki's voice was rough. "You're making it really fucking hard to stay objective, Deku."

Izuku's heart stuttered. "Good."

"Good?"

"You said to show you this wasn't just a strategy. That I actually give a shit about more than saving my family's company." Izuku finally looked at him, finding red eyes already watching. "I'm showing you."

The kitchen felt smaller, warmer. The chef had discreetly disappeared, leaving them alone with the low simmer of liquids and the weight of everything unspoken between them.

Katsuki's hand moved that final inch, covering Izuku's on the counter. His palm was warm, calloused, steady.

"Three weeks," he repeated, but this time it sounded less like a countdown and more like a promise.

"Three weeks," Izuku agreed.

They sat there, hands touching, the simplest contact feeling monumental. Neither moved to take it further, both aware that rushing would ruin something precious and fragile growing between them.

Finally, Katsuki pulled back, standing with obvious reluctance. "I've got meetings this afternoon. Territory stuff. You should rest, you've been up since four-thirty."

"Will you be back for dinner?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Katsuki paused at the kitchen door, looking back. "And Deku? That plan you came up with for the shipping business? We're really going to use it. If it works, if you help us catch a security risk, that's going to change how people see you here."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Then we try something else. But I think it will." His smile was sharp again, but not unkind. "I'm usually right about people. And I think I'm right about you."

Then he was gone, leaving Izuku alone in the kitchen with his racing thoughts and the lingering warmth of Katsuki's hand over his.

---

Izuku didn't rest. Instead, he found himself drawn back to the library, to the chair where Katsuki had read his notebook over a week ago. The memory felt both distant and immediate, so much had changed in such a short time.

Without his notebook, his thoughts felt unmoored, so he pulled out his phone and opened a new document. Not the same as pen and paper, but it would have to do.

He began typing but stopped abruptly and erased everything and started again. 

Day Nine: I no longer have my notebook to work through everything in my head. I thought about using this for the time being but thought better of it. If a physical notebook is seen as a threat then this would be even worse since someone could hack into my phone. If someone has hacked in and is reading this, I have a message for you. 

You will not be about to use me against this family. 

A knock at the library door interrupted his thoughts. Ashido poked her head in, grinning.

"There you are. Mitsuki-sama wants to see you."

"Another lesson?"

"Something like that. Come on."

Izuku followed her through the estate, expecting to end up at Mitsuki's office. Instead, they went to a small meeting room where Mitsuki waited with Masaru and three other people Izuku didn't recognize.

"Midoriya-san, sit," Mitsuki said. "These are representatives from three of our protected families. I've explained your proposed plan for testing the shipping business. They want to hear it from you directly."

Izuku's pulse kicked up, but he forced himself to stay calm. For the next hour, he walked them through his analysis and proposal. He explained the suspicious patterns, the lack of intelligence flow, the strategic reasons for testing the business's loyalty. He fielded questions, adjusted his plan based on their logistical concerns, and incorporated their suggestions.

By the end, all three representatives were nodding.

"This could work," one of them said. "And if it exposes a leak, it'll save us significant problems down the line."

"The Midoriya heir has a good strategic mind," another added. "Detailed but flexible. Unlike his father."

After they left, Masaru smiled at Izuku. "Well done. You just earned approval from some of our most skeptical associates."

"I didn't realize I was being evaluated," Izuku admitted.

"Everything here is an evaluation," Mitsuki said, but not unkindly. "But you're passing more tests than you're failing. Keep it up."

---

Dinner that evening was different. More relaxed, somehow. Goto was absent, apparently on assignment, and without his hostile presence, the atmosphere lightened considerably.

Katsuki sat at the head of the table as always, but his eyes kept finding Izuku throughout the meal, small glances that sent warmth curling through Izuku's chest.

"I heard about your meeting with the family representatives," Kirishima said, grinning at Izuku. "Nice work, man. Those guys don't give approval easily."

"It was just a plan," Izuku said.

"A good plan that they're actually going to implement," Kaminari corrected. "That's more than most people manage in their first month here."

"First month?" Sero laughed. "Most people don't survive their first week."

"Deku's stubborn," Katsuki said, and the nickname sounded almost affectionate. "Doesn't know when to quit."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" Izuku asked.

"Yes."

The table laughed, and Izuku felt something settle in his chest. Belonging. Not complete, not yet, but the beginning of it.

After dinner, as people dispersed, Katsuki caught Izuku's arm. "Walk with me."

They ended up at the koi pond again, the place that was becoming their unofficial talking spot. The evening air was cool, the water reflecting the last light of sunset.

"You did good today," Katsuki said. "In the operations center, with Endeavor, with the family representatives. All of it."

"I'm trying."

"I know. That's why it's working." Katsuki turned to face him fully. "I need to tell you something."

Izuku's heart rate picked up. "Okay."

"The month timeline. The one-month trial period." Katsuki's jaw was tight. "I don't need three more weeks."

Izuku's stomach dropped. "You're ending it early?"

"What? No. Fuck." Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I'm saying I've already decided. You've proven yourself. If the question is 'can you handle this world,' the answer is yes. If it's 'can I work with you as a partner,' that's also yes."

"Then why wait three more weeks?"

"Because you deserve the full month to be sure. To see more of what this life actually means. To make the choice with complete information." Katsuki's eyes were intense. "I've decided. But you need to decide too, without pressure, without feeling rushed."

Izuku stepped closer, closing some of the distance between them. "I've already decided too."

"Deku—"

"I'm not saying that because I'm caught up in the moment or because I'm afraid of what happens if I don't. I'm saying it because I've spent nine days here learning what this world is, learning who you are, and I want this." His voice was steady, sure. "I want to stay. I want to be part of this family. I want—"

He cut himself off, suddenly aware of how close they were, how Katsuki was looking at him like he was something precious and dangerous.

"Want what?" Katsuki asked, voice rough.

"You," Izuku admitted. "I want you. Not just the alliance or the strategic partnership. You."

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world narrowed to just the two of them, the koi pond, the fading light.

Then Katsuki's hand came up, cupping Izuku's jaw with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed across Izuku's cheekbone, a touch so careful it made Izuku's breath catch.

"You sure about that?" Katsuki murmured. "Because there's no taking it back once you say it."

"I'm sure."

"Even knowing I'm going to be difficult and demanding and probably drive you crazy?"

"Especially knowing that."

Katsuki's smile was soft, genuine, transformative. "Fuck. You really mean it."

"I really do."

For a long moment, Izuku thought Katsuki might kiss him. His hand was still cupping Izuku's face, they were close enough that Izuku could feel each exhaled breath, and the tension between them was almost unbearable.

But Katsuki stepped back, letting his hand fall with obvious reluctance.

"Three weeks," he said again. "Not because I need them. Because I want you to be completely sure. No doubts, no regrets."

"I'm not going to change my mind."

"Good. But take the time anyway." Katsuki's expression was serious. "This isn't just about us. It's about committing to this life, to this family, to everything that comes with it. I need you to see it all before you make that choice permanent."

Izuku understood, even though part of him wanted to protest. Katsuki was giving him an out, making sure the decision was truly his, not made under pressure or in the heat of attraction.

"Okay," Izuku said. "Three weeks. But I'm telling you now, my answer isn't going to change."

"We'll see." But Katsuki was smiling. "Now come on. It's late, and we've got training at four-thirty tomorrow."

"Four-thirty again?"

"You're learning weapons. That takes time." Katsuki started walking back toward the main house. "Besides, I like having you to myself before everyone else wakes up."

The admission made Izuku's heart skip. "Me too."

They walked back in comfortable silence, shoulders occasionally brushing. At Izuku's door, Katsuki paused.

"Sleep well, Deku."

"You too."

But Katsuki didn't move, still standing there, looking at Izuku with an expression that made him feel simultaneously seen and desired and cherished.

"Ka–" Izuku cleared his throat. “Bakugo-san?” he asked softly.

"Yeah?"

“You gave me a nickname, can I give you one as well?”

Katsuki smiled softly. “Let's see what you got.”

“Izuku thought about it a moment before he answered quietly, almost shyly.

“Kacchan.”

Katsuki leaned forward and his lips brushed Izuku's ear. 

“You can call me that in private behind closed doors. While others are around, or out in public, just use my first name. I got a reputation to keep.” Then he stepped back and started to walk away. 

Izuku could feel the heat in his cheeks and wouldn't be surprised if he was the same color as a tomato. 

"Katsuki, thank you. For giving me time, for wanting me to be sure, and everything else."

"Don't thank me yet. Three weeks is a long time when you want something this badly." Katsuki's voice was rough, honest. "But you're worth waiting for."

Then he was gone, disappearing down the hallway, leaving Izuku standing in his doorway with his heart full and his future spreading out before him like a promise.

Inside his room, Izuku collapsed face first on his bed. He felt like a high school girl as he whined into his pillow before rolling over to stare at the ceiling. 

At 2 AM, the drums started. But this time, Izuku didn't just listen. He got up, pulled on a hoodie, and walked through the quiet estate to the training facility.

The door was unlocked.

Katsuki looked up when Izuku entered, his hands stilling on the drums. For a moment, neither spoke.

"Couldn't sleep again?" Katsuki asked.

"Didn't want to," Izuku admitted. "You offered a rain check. I'm cashing it in."

A slow smile spread across Katsuki's face. "Come here."

Izuku crossed to the drum kit. Katsuki gestured to a seat nearby, then picked up the drumsticks again.

"This is me thinking," he said. "This is me working through shit when words aren't enough. You wanted to see it. So see it."

And then he played.

It was different from hearing it through walls and distance. Up close, Izuku could see the controlled violence of each strike, the precision that kept chaos from spilling over into noise. He could see the way Katsuki's whole body moved with the rhythm, the focus in his eyes, the slight smile that meant he was lost in it.

It was intimate, being allowed to witness this. More intimate than training or hand-holding or even the moment at the koi pond.

This was Katsuki without walls, without the careful control he maintained during the day. This was raw and honest and beautiful.

When the rhythm finally slowed and stopped, Katsuki looked at Izuku with flushed cheeks and slightly unsteady breath.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you think?"

"I think," Izuku said quietly, "that I'm falling in love with you."

The words hung in the air between them, enormous and terrifying and true.

Katsuki's eyes widened, his lips parting at the confession. Izuku felt his face blaze with heat.

“Deku–”

“Um…. I gotta get some sleep. Goodnight Kacchan." And then he fled, all while leaving Katsuki sitting in stunned silence. 

Chapter Text

Izuku woke at 4:15 AM to his alarm, his heart already racing before his eyes fully opened.

‘I think I'm falling in love with you.’

The words he'd said, no, confessed, echoed in his mind with mortifying clarity. He'd said that. Out loud. To Katsuki. And then he ran away like a coward.

"Oh god," Izuku muttered into his pillow. "What was I thinking?"

He wasn't thinking. That was the problem. He'd been caught up in the moment, in the intimacy of watching Katsuki play drums, in the raw honesty of it all, and his brain had just... short-circuited.

Now he had to face Katsuki in, he checked the time again, fifteen minutes.

For weapons training.

Where they'd be alone.

In an underground bunker.

With guns.

"I'm going to die," Izuku said to the ceiling. "Not from violence. From embarrassment."

But he dragged himself out of bed anyway, because not showing up would be worse. Would be admitting defeat. And he'd already told Katsuki he wasn't the type to quit.

Even when he desperately wanted to.

He dressed quickly, pulling on workout clothes and trying to rehearse what he'd say. ‘Sorry about last night, I was tired and not thinking clearly’ sounded like a cop-out. ‘I meant what I said’ was too bold when he'd literally fled the scene. ‘Can we pretend that never happened’ was tempting but dishonest.

By the time he made it to the underground range, he still hadn't figured out the right approach.

Katsuki was already there, setting up weapons on the table with his usual methodical precision. He looked up when Izuku entered, and their eyes met.

Izuku braced himself for awkwardness, for questions, for something.

Instead, Katsuki just smiled. Not his sharp, challenging smile. Something warmer, almost knowing.

"You're early," he said simply. "Good. We've got a lot to cover today."

That was it. No mention of the confession. No acknowledgement of Izuku's panicked exit. Just... training.

Izuku didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"Right," he managed. "What are we working on?"

"Accuracy under pressure. Yesterday you did fine with stationary targets and all the time in the world. Today we're going to make it harder." Katsuki gestured to the range, where Izuku noticed the targets had been replaced with something more complex. Multiple silhouettes at varying distances, some partially obscured. "Real situations don't give you perfect conditions."

They started with the basics, Katsuki observing as Izuku went through his drills. But something was different today. Every correction, every adjustment, felt more deliberate. More intimate.

"Your stance is off," Katsuki said, moving behind him. His hands settled on Izuku's hips, firm and warm, adjusting his position. But instead of the quick, efficient touches from yesterday, his hands lingered. His thumbs pressed into the hollow of Izuku's hip bones, steadying him.

Izuku's breath caught.

"Better," Katsuki murmured, his voice lower than necessary, closer than needed. "But you're still tense. Relax."

"Kind of hard to relax when you're—" Izuku cut himself off.

"When I'm what?" Katsuki's breath ghosted across the back of his neck, and Izuku could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You're shaking." Katsuki's hands slid from his hips to his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles there with surprising gentleness. "Breathe, Deku. You can't shoot accurately if you're this wound up."

‘You're the reason I'm wound up’, Izuku wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, he forced himself to take slow, deliberate breaths, trying to ignore the warmth of Katsuki's hands on his shoulders, the solid presence of him so close behind.

"Good," Katsuki said softly, and his hands dropped away. "Now shoot."

Izuku raised the weapon and fired. The shot went wide, nowhere near center mass.

"Again. And this time, don't overthink it."

They drilled for another twenty minutes, and Izuku's performance was noticeably worse than yesterday. Not because he wasn't capable, but because Katsuki seemed determined to be as distracting as possible.

Every adjustment came with touches that lasted just a fraction too long. When Katsuki demonstrated proper grip, his hand covered Izuku's, fingers interweaving, warm and calloused and impossible to ignore. When he corrected Izuku's arm position, his fingers trailed up from wrist to elbow with deliberate slowness.

And through it all, Katsuki acted completely casual. Like he didn't notice the way Izuku's pulse jumped at each contact. Like he wasn't deliberately making it impossible for Izuku to concentrate.

"You're doing this on purpose," Izuku finally said after missing another shot.

"Doing what?" Katsuki's expression was the picture of innocence, but his eyes gleamed with mischief.

"You know what."

"I'm just correcting your form. Not my fault if you're... distracted." Katsuki moved closer again, reaching around to adjust Izuku's grip on the weapon. This time, when his hands settled over Izuku's, he didn't pull away. "Is something distracting you, Deku?"

Izuku's heart hammered against his ribs. Katsuki was pressed against his back now, arms bracketing him, hands covering his, on the gun. It was overwhelming and perfect and completely unfair.

"You are," Izuku admitted quietly.

"Good." Katsuki's lips brushed the shell of his ear, barely a touch, just breath and warmth and promise. "Now shoot."

Somehow, impossibly, Izuku's shot hit center mass. 

Katsuki laughed, low and pleased, and stepped back. "See? You shoot better when you stop overthinking."

"That's not—I can't—" Izuku lowered the weapon with shaking hands and turned to face him. "What are you doing?"

"Training you." Katsuki's smile was absolutely wicked now. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're trying to drive me insane."

"Is it working?"

"Yes!"

"Excellent." Katsuki took the gun from Izuku's hands and set it aside carefully. Then he stepped closer, close enough that Izuku had to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. "You said something interesting last night."

Izuku's face flamed. "I was tired. I wasn't thinking clearly—"

"You said you were falling in love with me." Katsuki's voice was soft, dangerous, and with intent. "Then you ran away before I could respond."

"I panicked."

"I noticed." Katsuki's hand came up, fingers ghosting along Izuku's jaw. "Want to know what I would have said? If you'd stuck around?"

Izuku's mouth went dry. "What?"

"That you're not the only one." Katsuki's thumb brushed across Izuku's lower lip, a touch so light it almost wasn't there. "That I've been trying to keep my distance, to give you space to be sure. But you keep making it fucking impossible."

"I do?"

"You do." Katsuki's hand dropped away, and he stepped back before things could go further. "Three weeks, Deku. I meant what I said. But that doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for you."

"You're trying to torture me."

"Little bit." Katsuki's grin was unrepentant. "Consider it motivation to be very, very sure about what you want. Because once those three weeks are up, I'm not holding back anymore."

Izuku's knees felt weak. "That's... really not fair."

"Nothing about this is fair. Get used to it." Katsuki moved back to the weapons table, and just like that, they were back to business. "Come on. We've still got forty-five minutes. Let's work on speed drills."

The rest of training continued in the same vein, professional instruction punctuated by touches that lingered, by proximity that felt deliberate, by Katsuki's absolute refusal to acknowledge what he was doing even as he clearly, and very obviously knew exactly what effect he was having.

By the time they finished, Izuku was wound so tight he felt like he might vibrate out of his skin.

"Good session," Katsuki said as they locked away the weapons. "You're improving. Though you still get distracted too easily."

"I wonder why," Izuku muttered.

Katsuki just laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as they headed upstairs. The touch was casual, friendly, but his hand slid down Izuku's back as they walked, fingers pressing against the small dip at the base of his spine before falling away.

Izuku nearly stumbled.

"Careful," Katsuki said, still not looking at him, voice maddeningly neutral. "Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"You're evil."

"You have no idea." But Katsuki was smiling, and when they parted ways at the top of the stairs, Katsuki heading to his morning meetings, Izuku to breakfast and then his lesson with Mitsuki, his eyes held a promise that made Izuku's heart race.

‘Three weeks’, that look said. ‘You can last three weeks.’

Izuku wasn't sure that was true anymore.

---

Breakfast was a blur. Izuku barely tasted his food, too busy replaying every moment from training. The touches, the words, the absolute confidence in Katsuki's voice when he'd said ‘you're not the only one’.

"You okay?" Kirishima asked, waving a hand in front of Izuku's face. "You've been staring at that rice for like five minutes."

"I'm fine," Izuku said automatically.

"You look like you've seen a ghost. Or like Bakugo finally broke you." Kaminari grinned. "Which is it?"

"Neither. Just thinking."

"About what?" Ashido asked, but her knowing smile suggested she already had theories.

"About... strategy. For the shipping business test." It wasn't entirely a lie. Izuku had been thinking about that too, in between thoughts about Katsuki's hands and voice and the way he'd said ‘I'm not holding back anymore’.

"Right. Strategy." Ashido's tone was deeply skeptical. "Nothing to do with the fact that you and Bakugo have been eye-fucking each other across the breakfast table for the past week?"

Izuku choked on his tea.

"Subtle, Mina," Sero said, but he was grinning too.

"I'm not—we're not—" Izuku sputtered.

"Sure you're not." Kirishima patted his shoulder sympathetically. "It's okay, man. Everyone can see it. It's actually kind of cute how oblivious you both think you're being."

"We're not being oblivious. We're being... appropriate. Professional."

All three of them burst out laughing.

"Yeah, okay," Kaminari said. "Keep telling yourself that."

Izuku gave up and focused on his breakfast, ignoring their knowing looks and barely suppressed laughter. He had bigger things to worry about than his friends' teasing.

Like surviving three more weeks of Katsuki's deliberate torture.

---

The lesson with Mitsuki was a welcome distraction. She walked him through more operational details, showing him how information flowed through the organization, how decisions were made and implemented across territories.

"You're picking this up faster than expected," Mitsuki observed, pulling up another set of files. "Most people take months to understand these systems. You've managed it in a week and a half."

"It helps that the structure is similar to corporate management. Just with... different incentives."

"Different stakes," Mitsuki corrected. "In the corporate world, failure means lost money. Here, it can mean lost lives." She fixed him with a sharp look. "You understand that, right? That the decisions you'll be making, if you stay, will have real consequences for real people?"

"I understand," Izuku said seriously. "That's part of why I've been taking this so seriously. These aren't just theoretical exercises."

"Good." She pulled up the plan Izuku had developed for testing the shipping business. "We're implementing this tomorrow. I want you there to oversee it."

"Really?"

"It's your plan. You should see it through." Mitsuki's expression was calculating. "Plus, if it works, if we catch someone betraying us because of your analysis, that will go a long way toward cementing your position here."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Then we've run a security drill and confirmed a business is trustworthy. No harm done." She closed the files. "Either way, you're proving yourself useful in ways beyond just being a marriage alliance."

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, frowned, and stood. "I need to take this. Review the implementation plan while I'm gone. Make notes on anything you think we're missing."

She stepped out of the office, and Izuku pulled up the plan on his tablet, scanning through the details. It was solid, he thought. Multiple checkpoints, clear indicators of success or failure, minimal risk to actual operations.

His phone buzzed.

Izuku glanced at it absently, expecting a message from Ashido or maybe Kaminari with another teasing comment. Instead, it was from an unknown number.

Midoriya Izuku. We need to talk. Alone. One hour. The address below. Come alone, or people you care about will suffer.

Below the message was an address in a part of Tokyo Izuku didn't recognize.

His blood went cold.

This was, this had to be a trap. Or a test. Or both. But the mention of people he cared about made it impossible to ignore.

Mitsuki returned a moment later, still on her phone, and Izuku made a split-second decision.

"Mitsuki-sama," he said, interrupting her conversation. "I need to show you something."

She ended her call and took the phone he offered, reading the message. Her expression went dangerously calm.

"When did you receive this?"

"Just now. While you were out."

"Did you respond?"

"No. I wanted to show you first."

"Good." She pulled out her own phone, typing rapidly. "This is a threat. We need to—"

"I'm going," Izuku said.

Mitsuki looked up sharply. "Absolutely not."

"They said to come alone. If I don't—"

"Then they're trying to isolate you. To get you alone and vulnerable so they can—" She stopped, jaw tight. "No. We'll send a team. Handle this properly."

"What if they're watching? What if sending a team is exactly what triggers them to hurt someone?" Izuku's mind was racing, running through scenarios. "This message mentioned people I care about. That means they know enough to make that threat real."

"Which is exactly why you're not going alone." Mitsuki's voice was firm. "Katsuki would never forgive me if something happened to you. I'd never forgive myself."

"Then don't tell him."

"Excuse me?"

Izuku knew he was taking a massive risk, but his instincts were screaming that this was about him, not Katsuki. "What if this is a trap for Katsuki? What if whoever sent this is betting that he'll come charging in to protect me, and that's what they actually want?"

Mitsuki was silent, considering.

"I'm not saying I go alone," Izuku continued quickly. "I'm saying I go as if I'm alone, but with support nearby. Hidden. Ready to intervene if things go wrong." He met her eyes. "But Katsuki stays here. Where he's safe. Where he can't be the real target."

"You think this is about drawing him out."

"I think it's possible. Endeavor just showed up yesterday, making threats. Goto has been trying to undermine me from the start. There are plenty of people who would benefit from either eliminating me or using me as bait." Izuku's voice was steady despite his racing heart. "But if Katsuki shows up, it plays into their hands. If I show up alone, seemingly alone, it forces them to show their real intentions."

Mitsuki studied him for a long moment. "You're more calculating than I gave you credit for."

"I'm terrified," Izuku admitted. "But I'm also right. And we both know it."

She sighed, pulling up something on her phone. "Fine. But here's how this is going to work. Ashido and two others will be positioned nearby, close enough to intervene within seconds. You'll wear a wire. You do exactly what they say until we determine intent, then you get the hell out and let the professionals handle it."

"Agreed."

"And if Katsuki finds out about this before you're back safe, you get to explain to him why I let you walk into a potential trap."

"That's fair."

Mitsuki made several calls, her voice clipped and efficient. Within ten minutes, the plan was set. Ashido appeared with the wire, her expression grim.

"This is either really brave or really stupid," she said, echoing her words from before the family meeting.

"Definitely both," Izuku agreed.

She helped him position the wire, hidden beneath his shirt, then stepped back. "I'll be close. You're not alone out there, even if it looks like you are. Remember that."

"I will."

"And Midoriya?" Ashido's expression was serious as she handed him a Glock. "If this goes bad, if you're in real danger, don't try to be a hero. Just survive until we can get to you."

"Understood."

Mitsuki provided a car and driver, both carefully chosen to look civilian rather than yakuza. As Izuku climbed in, she caught his arm.

"You're not wrong about keeping Katsuki out of this," she said quietly. "But you should know, he cares about you. More than is probably wise given the circumstances. If something happens to you because I allowed this, there will be consequences."

"I know," Izuku said. "But if something happens to him because I didn't think this through, I couldn't live with that."

She released his arm. "One hour. If we haven't heard from you by then, we're coming in regardless of instructions."

"One hour," Izuku confirmed.

As the car pulled away from the estate, Izuku's hands shook slightly. He clenched them into fists, forcing himself to breathe slowly, evenly. This was crazy. This was dangerous. This was possibly the stupidest thing he'd done since arriving at the Bakugo estate.

But it was also his choice. His risk to take.

And if it kept Katsuki safe, it was worth it.

The address led to an abandoned warehouse in an industrial district. Exactly the kind of ominous, too-perfect location that made Izuku's paranoia spike. The driver stopped a block away as instructed.

"You sure about this?" he asked, clearly unhappy with the situation.

"No," Izuku said honestly. "But I'm doing it anyway."

He got out and walked toward the warehouse, acutely aware of the wire beneath his shirt, of Ashido and her team positioned somewhere nearby, of every step taking him further from safety.

The warehouse door was unlocked. Inside, the space was dim, lit only by dusty windows high above. Izuku's eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice echoing in the empty space.

"Midoriya Izuku." The voice came from the shadows, and a figure stepped into a shaft of light. Male, mid-thirties, wearing nondescript dark clothes. Not anyone Izuku recognized. "You actually came alone. Interesting."

"You said people would suffer if I didn't," Izuku said, staying near the door, keeping his exit clear. "I'm here. What do you want?"

"To talk. Just talk." The man smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You've caused quite a stir, Midoriya-san. The heir of a legitimate empire, marrying into yakuza royalty. Some people are very interested in that development."

"What people?"

"People who understand that the balance of power in Tokyo is shifting. People who want to make sure that shift happens in their favor." The man moved closer, and Izuku forced himself not to retreat. "The Bakugos are strong. The Midoriyas have influence. Together, you could be unstoppable. That makes some people nervous."

"Endeavor," Izuku guessed.

"Among others." The man circled slowly, and Izuku turned to keep him in sight. "We're here to make you an offer."

"I'm listening."

"Walk away. End the engagement. Convince the Bakugos that this alliance isn't worth pursuing." The man's voice was calm, reasonable. "Do that, and you'll be compensated. Generously. Enough money to save your father's company without needing yakuza protection. A clean exit from a dangerous world."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you become a liability. To your family. To the Bakugos. To everyone you care about." The threat was delivered matter-of-factly. "Accidents happen, Midoriya-san. Especially to people who make themselves targets."

Izuku's heart pounded, but he kept his voice steady. "You're asking me to betray people who've taken me in. Who've protected me. Who've given me a chance to prove myself."

"I'm asking you to be smart. You've been there less than two weeks. You don't owe them anything." The man stopped circling, facing Izuku directly. "This is your chance to walk away. While you still can."

"And if I tell the Bakugos about this conversation?"

"Then we'll know you've made your choice. And we'll act accordingly." The man pulled out a phone, showing Izuku a photograph. It was his father, leaving the Midoriya company headquarters. "Your father is vulnerable. His business partners, his employees, everyone connected to your family. They're all vulnerable. Even the Bakugo heir is vulnerable with you around.” The man swiped to another picture. It showed what happened the other day when the guys confronted Katsuki on the side street. “Think about that before you make a decision you can't take back."

Izuku stared at the photograph, mind racing. This wasn't just about him. This was about leverage, about using him to destabilize the Bakugo-Midoriya alliance before it could solidify.

"I need time to think," Izuku said carefully.

"You have twenty-four hours. After that, we take your silence as refusal and act accordingly." The man pocketed his phone. "Choose wisely, Midoriya-san. Not everyone gets a chance to walk away from the yakuza world alive."

‘Not everyone gets a chance to walk away alive.’ That was one of the lessons that was drilled into his head during the first week. 

Izuku shifted his stance slightly, felt the shift of the gun hidden underneath his jacket. 

"Who are you working for?" Izuku asked, voice darkening slightly. "If you want me to take this seriously, I need to know who I'm dealing with."

The man smiled. "Let's just say we represent mutual interests. People who would benefit from the current power structure remaining... fluid."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting. Twenty-four hours, Midoriya-san. Make the right choice."

"I think I already have. Can you pass on a message for me?"

The man's smile widened. "What message would that be?"

"Go to hell."

The man's hand moved toward his jacket, fast, practiced, the motion of someone who'd done this a hundred times before.

Izuku was faster.

His body moved before his brain caught up, muscle memory from hours of training overriding conscious thought. Draw. Aim. The weight of the Glock solid in his hand. The man's eyes widening in surprise.

Fire.

The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space, so loud it felt like it shattered something inside Izuku's skull. The man stumbled backward, hand still reaching for a weapon he'd never clear from its holster, and collapsed.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Izuku stood frozen, arm still extended, gun still aimed at where the man had been standing. His ears were ringing, a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else. The smell hit him next. Gunpowder, sharp and acrid, mixing with something copper-sweet that made his stomach lurch.

The man wasn't moving.

‘I just killed someone.’

The thought arrived distant and strange, like it belonged to someone else. Like Izuku was watching this happen from very far away, observing some other person standing in an abandoned warehouse with a smoking gun.

His hands started shaking. Small tremors at first, then worse, until the Glock rattled in his grip.

‘Move. You need to move.’

The voice in his head sounded like Katsuki's from training. ‘Don't freeze. Don't think. Just act.’

Izuku's legs felt disconnected from his body as he walked forward. Each step echoed too loud in the ringing silence. He should check for a pulse, he thought distantly. Confirm the kill. That's what you're supposed to do.

But he could see the man's eyes, still open, staring at nothing. Could see the way his chest had stopped moving.

There was no need to check.

Izuku crouched beside the body, movements mechanical, automated. The man's jacket. He needed… What did he need? The phone. The wallet. Evidence. He was gathering evidence.

His hands were still shaking so badly he nearly dropped the phone twice before getting it into his pocket. The wallet was easier, just leather and cards, nothing that felt real. Nothing that reminded him there was a person attached to these objects sixty seconds ago.

‘I killed him. I shot him and he's dead and I killed him.’

The words repeated in his mind like a mantra, trying to make themselves feel true. They didn't. Nothing felt true. The warehouse was too bright and too dark at the same time. His hands looked like they belonged to someone else. The ringing in his ears wouldn't stop.

Katsuki's hands on his hips that morning. ‘Relax. Breathe.’

Izuku focused on that memory, clutched it like a lifeline. The warmth of Katsuki's touch. His voice, low and amused. The way he'd smiled when Izuku hit center mass.

‘I can think about that. I can think about anything except what just happened.’

He made it to the door somehow. Put one foot in front of the other. The sunlight outside was too bright, too normal. The world shouldn't look this ordinary when everything had just changed.

The car was where he'd left it. Ashido materialized from a doorway, already moving toward him, and Izuku watched her mouth move but couldn't hear the words over the ringing.

"—okay? We heard a gunshot—"

"Yeah." His voice sounded wrong, too flat. "Just talking. Threats." 

‘Liar. You just killed someone.’

"Are there others around?" The words came out automatically, like he was reading from a script.

"No." Ashido's eyes were scanning him, sharp and assessing. Looking for injuries probably. She wouldn't find any. The blood wasn't his. "But we got the conversation. Everything you said, everything he said. It's all recorded."

"Good." Izuku moved toward the car. He needed to sit down. Everything felt tilted wrong.

"Midoriya-san." Ashido's voice stopped him. "What's in your hands?"

Izuku looked down. The wallet. The phone. His hands were still shaking, he noticed distantly. Couldn't seem to make them stop.

"The man's wallet and phone. He won't be needing them." The words tasted like ash. "Though you might want to call someone. I don't know how to dispose of a body."

Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath.

Izuku didn't turn around. Couldn't. If he looked at Ashido's face right now, saw whatever expression she was wearing, something inside him might crack open completely.

He heard her footsteps move away quickly. Heard her voice, low and urgent, speaking into her phone. The words blurred together, meaningless.

Izuku made it to the car and got inside, movements stiff and careful like he might shatter if he moved too fast. His hands were still shaking. He pressed them flat against his thighs, trying to make them stop. They wouldn't.

‘I killed someone.’

The thought kept circling back, insistent. Demanding acknowledgment.

‘I shot him in the chest and watched him fall and he's dead because of me.’

His stomach lurched. Izuku swallowed hard, tasting copper even though he hadn't been close enough for any blood to—

No. Don't think about that. Think about something else. Anything else.

Katsuki's voice that morning. ‘You're not the only one.’

The warmth of his hands. The promise in his eyes. The way he'd smiled, wicked and knowing, and said ‘Three weeks. You can last three weeks.’

Izuku focused on that. On the memory of safety, of wanting something instead of surviving something. It was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

Ashido returned a few minutes later, her expression carefully controlled as she slid into the car beside him.

"Cleanup crew is coming. Mitsuki wants to see us right away."

"Good. She needs to hear everything anyway."

"And Katsuki?" Ashido asked carefully, watching him with an intensity that made Izuku's skin prickle.

Katsuki. Who'd been trying to keep him away from exactly this. Who'd said violence was just a reality but never wanted Izuku to be the one wielding it. Who'd wake up tomorrow to find out that Izuku had—

"Yeah," Izuku said quietly, staring at his still-shaking hands. "Katsuki too. He deserves to know."

The car started moving, and Izuku watched Tokyo blur past the window. Buildings and people and normal life continuing like nothing had changed. Like the world hadn't just tilted on its axis.

His reflection stared back at him from the glass. Same face. Same person, supposedly. But something fundamental had shifted, some line crossed that he could never uncross.

"Midoriya." Ashido's voice was gentler than he'd ever heard it. "Your first kill is—it's always hard. No matter how justified."

"Was it?" Izuku's voice sounded hollow. "Justified?"

"You saw the threat assessment. He made his intentions clear." Ashido's hand settled on his shoulder, warm and grounding. "You did what you had to do."

‘What I had to do.’

The phrase should have felt like absolution. It just felt empty.

"It was so fast," Izuku heard himself say. "I didn't—I just reacted. Saw his hand move and I—" He swallowed hard. "Is it supposed to feel like that? Like it wasn't even real?"

"The dissociation is normal. Your brain's trying to protect you from processing everything at once." Ashido's grip on his shoulder tightened. "It'll hit you later. Probably tonight, maybe tomorrow. When it does, don't be alone. Talk to someone."

"Who?" Izuku almost laughed, but the sound died in his throat. "Who do I talk to about killing someone?"

"Katsuki." She said it with certainty. "He'll understand. He's been where you are."

That thought settled in Izuku's chest, heavy and complicated. Katsuki had killed before. Multiple times, probably. Had stood where Izuku was standing now, hands shaking, wondering if he was still the same person.

And he'd survived it. Learned to carry it.

Maybe that was the most terrifying part, knowing that he'd learn to carry this too. That eventually, the shaking would stop and the memory would dull and he'd be able to function around the weight of having taken a life.

That someday, this might just be another thing he knew how to do.

"I thought about this morning," Izuku said suddenly. The words spilled out before he could stop them. "When I shot him. When I was trying not to—not to think about what I was doing. I thought about weapons training. About Katsuki's hands and his voice and the way he—" He stopped, throat tight. "Is that fucked up? That I used that memory to stay calm while I killed someone?"

"No." Ashido's voice was firm. "That's survival. That's you holding onto something good while doing something horrible. There's nothing fucked up about that."

Izuku wasn't sure he believed her. But he nodded anyway, still staring at his reflection in the window.

His hands had finally stopped shaking.

He didn't know if that was better or worse.

"Twenty minutes until we're back," Ashido said quietly. "You should think about what you're going to say. Mitsuki will want details. Katsuki will want—" She paused. "Katsuki will want to know you're okay."

"I'm not sure I am."

"I know. But you will be." She squeezed his shoulder once more before letting go. "You're stronger than you think, Midoriya. What you did today—walking into that warehouse, making that choice, surviving it—that takes a different kind of courage than most people have."

Izuku closed his eyes. Tried to believe her.

All he could see was the man falling. The surprise in his eyes. The absolute finality of it.

‘I'm falling in love with you’, he'd told Katsuki last night. Less than twelve hours ago. A lifetime ago.

Now he was coming back to the estate with blood on his conscience and death in his wake, and he had no idea if the person he'd been this morning still existed.

The city blurred past. The car drove on.

And Izuku sat in silence, trying to figure out how to explain that he'd crossed a line he could never uncross, all to protect people he'd known for less than two weeks.

People who somehow, impossibly, had become worth killing for.

Chapter Text

The estate appeared in the distance, and Izuku's chest tightened with each meter they drew closer.

He'd been gone from the compound for less than two hours but everything felt different. It was barely nine noon now. In the span of a morning, he'd gone from Katsuki's teasing touches and heated promises to this. Hands that had held a gun, had pulled a trigger, not for training but for ending a life.

The car pulled through the gates, and Izuku noticed immediately that something was wrong. Too many people in the courtyard. Guards positioned at intervals that suggested high alert. And there, standing at the main entrance with his arms crossed and his expression absolutely murderous—

Katsuki.

"Fuck," Ashido muttered beside him. "He knows."

Of course he knew. Mitsuki must have told him the moment Ashido reported the gunshot. Or maybe he'd figured it out when Izuku didn't show up for lunch. Either way, the fury radiating off him was visible even from inside the car.

The vehicle stopped, and Izuku forced himself to move. His legs felt disconnected from his body again, but he made them work, made himself walk toward the man who'd promised him three weeks and who was now looking at him like—

Like he couldn't decide between pulling Izuku close or shaking him until his teeth rattled.

"Inside," Katsuki said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Now."

Not the main house. Katsuki grabbed Izuku's arm, his grip just shy of painful, and steered him toward the training facility. Ashido tried to follow, but Katsuki's glare stopped her.

"Give us the room."

"Bakugo, he shouldn't be alone right now—"

"I said. Give. Us. The room." Each word was clipped, controlled fury barely leashed.

Ashido looked at Izuku, who managed a small nod. She left reluctantly, and then they were alone in the space where just hours ago Katsuki had been touching him with careful intent, where the world had felt full of possibility instead of death.

The door closed with a decisive click.

Katsuki released Izuku's arm, his hand immediately moving to cup Izuku's jaw. Then, without warning, he kissed him, desperate and claiming, all the fear and fury and relief condensed into the press of lips that tasted like rage and something sweeter underneath.

Izuku froze for half a heartbeat before his body caught up with his brain, hands clutching at Katsuki's shirt as he kissed back just as desperately. It was nothing like he'd imagined, no tenderness, no careful exploration. Just raw need and the confirmation that they were both alive, both here, both whole.

Katsuki pulled back abruptly, breathing hard. For a long moment he just stared at Izuku, his eyes traveling from Izuku's face down his body and back up, cataloguing, assessing, searching for injuries with the intensity of someone who'd expected to find them.

"You're not hurt," he said finally, and it sounded like an accusation wrapped in disbelief.

"No."

"But someone is. Someone's dead." Katsuki's hands clenched into fists at his sides, the only visible sign of the control it was taking not to shake Izuku. "Want to explain to me why the fuck you walked into a trap without telling me?"

"It wasn't—"

"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Don't you dare tell me it wasn't a trap. You got a threatening message and walked into an abandoned warehouse to meet an unknown enemy. That's the textbook definition of a trap, Deku."

"Mitsuki-sama knew. I had backup—"

"My mother knew. I DIDN'T." Katsuki moved closer, and Izuku could see it now, the fear beneath the anger, raw and honest and more vulnerable than anything Katsuki had shown him before. "I was in a fucking meeting, discussing shipping routes and profit margins, and I got a message that you'd gone off alone to meet a threat. Do you have any idea—" 

He stopped, jaw working, hands flexing like he didn't know whether to reach for Izuku or put a hole in the wall.

"You could have died."

"I didn't."

"But you COULD have!" Katsuki's control shattered, his voice rising. "You could have been shot, or taken, or tortured for information, or—and I would have been sitting in a goddamn conference room talking about container capacities while you were bleeding out in some warehouse!" 

He cut himself off, chest heaving, and Izuku realized his hands were shaking. Not from fear or shock, but from the effort of not grabbing Izuku and never letting go.

Izuku had never seen him like this. Not during their first explosive meeting, not when Goto had challenged him, not even when Endeavor had shown up making veiled threats. This was different. This was fear that couldn't hide behind strategy or anger, laid bare because the alternative, losing Izuku before he'd ever really had him, had been too close to real.

"I'm sorry," Izuku said quietly, the words inadequate but necessary. "You're right. I should have told you."

"Why didn't you?" Some of the fury drained from Katsuki's voice, leaving something raw and wounded behind. "I thought you knew that there are people who give a shit whether you live or die."

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you." The words spilled out before Izuku could think better of them. "Because I thought it might be about you. About using me to draw you out, make you vulnerable. And I couldn't—" 

His voice cracked, and he had to force the rest through his tightening throat. 

"I couldn't risk you getting hurt because of me. Because of this alliance, because of what we're building. I couldn't be the reason you walked into danger."

Katsuki went very still. "What?"

"Endeavor showed up yesterday, making his power plays. Goto's been undermining me from the start. There are people—powerful people—who would benefit from either eliminating me or using me as bait for you." 

Izuku met his eyes, willing him to understand. 

"If you'd come with me and something had happened to you because I was too scared to handle it myself, because I needed you there to feel brave—I couldn't have lived with that. I wouldn't have survived watching you get hurt protecting me."

"So you decided to risk yourself instead."

"Yes."

"Without telling me. Without giving me a choice in whether I wanted to take that risk."

"Yes."

Katsuki's laugh was sharp, bitter, almost breaking. "You fucking hypocrite. You got pissed at your father for making decisions about your life without your input, for treating you like a chess piece instead of a person. Then you turn around and do the same goddamn thing to me."

The words hit like a physical blow because they were true. Izuku had done exactly what he'd accused his father of doing. He made a choice that affected someone else's life, someone else's safety, without giving them any say in the matter. He'd treated Katsuki like an asset to be protected rather than a partner with his own opinions.

"You're right," Izuku said, his voice hollow with realization. "I'm sorry. I just—all I could think about was keeping you safe."

"And I can't think of anything except keeping YOU safe, you stubborn, self-sacrificing asshole!" 

Katsuki closed the distance between them in two strides, grabbing Izuku's shoulders hard enough to bruise. 

"You think I don't understand the impulse? You think I wouldn't have done the exact same thing if the situation was reversed? You think I don't lie awake at night running scenarios about how to keep you alive in a world that wants to use you or eliminate you?" 

His grip tightened, trembling with the force of his emotion.

"But that doesn't make it okay. It doesn't make it any less terrifying to find out the person you—" 

He stopped, jaw clenching, unable or unwilling to finish that sentence. 

"To find out you walked into danger alone. That you could have died and I wouldn't have been there. That the last thing I said to you was some cocky bullshit about making you wait three weeks."

"I had backup. Ashido was positioned close—"

"Ashido wasn't with you in that warehouse." Katsuki's red eyes bored into his, searching, demanding truth. "What happened in there, Deku? My mother said you 'handled a threat.' What does that actually mean?"

And there it was. The question Izuku had been dreading since the gunshot still echoed in his skull.

"He made threats," Izuku said, his voice distant, clinical, the only way he could get through it. "Said I had twenty-four hours to end the engagement and walk away, or people I care about would suffer. Showed me pictures—my father leaving his office. Us, walking through that side street the other day when those guys confronted us. Proof they'd been watching, that they could reach anyone connected to me." 

His hands started shaking again despite his best efforts to control them. 

"Said everyone connected to me was vulnerable. That I was making myself a target just by being here."

"And then?"

"I told him to go to hell." Izuku forced himself to maintain eye contact, to own what he'd done. "He reached for his weapon. I drew faster. Aimed center mass. Fired."

The silence that followed felt like drowning.

Katsuki's hands loosened slightly on Izuku's shoulders, his expression shifting through a dozen emotions too fast to track.

"You killed him."

It wasn't a question, but Izuku answered anyway, the words tasting like ash. "Yes."

"Your first."

Izuku broke eye contact before he answered, looking down. "Yes."

Katsuki's hands moved from Izuku's shoulders to cup his face with devastating gentleness, tilting his head up carefully, like he was made of something precious and breakable.

"Look at me, Deku."

Izuku did, even though it hurt. Even though he was terrified of what he'd see in those red eyes—judgment, maybe, or disappointment that Izuku had become someone capable of taking a life.

Katsuki's expression had shifted completely, anger gone to reveal something far more complex underneath, understanding and grief and a terrible kind of recognition.

"You did what you had to do," Katsuki said quietly, firmly, each word deliberate. "He made a threat. He showed clear intent to harm you and people you care about. He moved on you. You responded. That's survival, not murder. You understand me? That's survival."

"It doesn't feel like survival." Izuku's voice cracked despite his efforts to keep it steady. "It feels like—I can still see his face. The surprise in his eyes, like he hadn't expected me to actually do it. The way he fell. And my hands won't stop shaking and I keep thinking about this morning, about you touching me and making me laugh and being so alive, and I used that memory to stay calm while I—" 

He couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't force out the words 'killed someone' because saying them made it too real.

"Good," Katsuki said, and Izuku's eyes snapped to his in shock. "I'm glad you thought about me. I'm glad you held onto something good, something that made you want to survive, while doing something horrible. There's no shame in that, Deku. There's no shame in wanting to live."

"Ashido said the same thing," Izuku whispered.

"Because it's true." Katsuki's thumbs brushed across Izuku's cheekbones, gentle and grounding, anchoring him to the moment. "Your first kill is always the hardest. It changes you in ways you can't predict and can't prepare for. You can't go back to who you were before—that person doesn't exist anymore. But that doesn't mean you're broken or wrong or irredeemable." 

He paused, searching for the right words.

"It means you've crossed a line that most people never have to cross. And it fucking sucks. It's heavy and horrible and it's going to haunt you. But you survive it. You learn to carry it. You become someone who understands the real cost of this life."

"How?" Izuku asked, hating how small his voice sounded, how desperate. "How do you survive it? How do you live with knowing you ended someone's life?"

"Honestly? Some part of you dies with it, but if you find away to accept it, you survive as a whole." 

Katsuki's expression was raw, more open and vulnerable than Izuku had ever seen it. 

"My first kill, I was seventeen. Territorial dispute gone wrong. Some asshole from a rival family decided to make an example, didn't matter that I was a kid. Guy pulled a knife, got close enough to scar me. I pulled a gun. Didn't even think about it, just reacted exactly how I'd been trained. And afterward..." 

He stopped, swallowing hard.

"Afterward, I threw up in an alley for twenty minutes. Couldn't sleep for three days straight. Kept seeing his face every time I closed my eyes. My mother found me at 4 AM on the fourth day, still awake, and she just sat with me. Didn't try to fix it or tell me it was okay. Just sat there while I fell apart."

Izuku tried to picture it, a younger Katsuki, just as fierce but more vulnerable, less hardened by years of violence. Dealing with the weight of taking a life for the first time, alone except for his mother's quiet presence.

"What helped? Eventually?"

"Time. Talking about it with people who understood, who'd been there. Accepting that I'd done what I had to do and that beating myself up over it wouldn't bring him back or change what happened." 

Katsuki's hands dropped from Izuku's face to his shoulders again, steadying and solid.

"And knowing that the alternative… me dying, or my family getting hurt, or showing weakness that would have gotten more people killed… would have been worse. The cost of not acting would have been higher than the cost of pulling that trigger."

"I keep trying to convince myself of that. That it was him or me. That he would have killed me if I hadn't—if I'd hesitated or tried to run or frozen like I wanted to." Izuku's throat felt too tight. "But it doesn't make it feel better. Doesn't make his face stop appearing every time I blink."

"It's not about making it feel better. It's about accepting reality—the reality of what happened, the reality of the world you've chosen to live in, the reality that violence has consequences that last long after the gunshot fades." 

Katsuki's voice was gentle but unyielding.

"You walked into that warehouse knowing the risks. You went armed. You were prepared to defend yourself if necessary. That's not murder, Deku. That's making a choice to survive in a world where violence is currency and hesitation gets you killed."

"But I—" Izuku's voice broke completely. "I didn't want to be someone who could do that. Who could look at another person and pull a trigger and walk away. I didn't want to become someone who has blood on their hands before they're even officially part of this world."

"Nobody wants to be that person. Nobody wakes up hoping today's the day they have to kill someone." 

Katsuki pulled Izuku closer with inexorable gentleness, and suddenly Izuku was wrapped in his arms, held tight against his chest, surrounded by warmth and the steady beat of his heart.

"But sometimes the world doesn't give you better options. Sometimes it's kill or be killed, and there's no moral high ground to stand on, no right answer that lets you walk away clean. You just have to make a choice and live with it."

Izuku's hands clutched at Katsuki's shirt, holding on like he was drowning, like Katsuki was the only solid thing in a world that had tilted sideways. And maybe he was. Maybe he'd been drowning since the moment he pulled that trigger and watched a man fall, and he'd only just now found something to hold onto.

"I thought about you," Izuku said into Katsuki's shoulder, his voice muffled and raw. "When I was there. When I was trying not to panic, trying to stay functional. I thought about this morning and what you said, about not holding back anymore. About you touching me and making me laugh and the way you looked at me like I was—like I mattered." 

He took a shuddering breath.

"And I didn't want to die before I got to see what we could be. Before I got to have this, whatever this is, for real instead of just possibilities."

Katsuki's arms tightened around him until Izuku could barely breathe, and he didn't care. "You're not going to die. I won't let you."

"You can't promise that."

"Watch me." 

Katsuki pulled back just enough to look at Izuku's face, and his expression was absolutely fierce, all-consuming in its intensity.

"You're mine now, Midoriya Izuku. Whether you realize it or not, whether we're officially married or not, whether you've been here two weeks or two years. You became mine the moment you stood up to my mother in that first meeting. You sealed it when you burned your notebook to prove yourself. And today, when you killed someone and walked out of that warehouse alive—you proved you're strong enough to survive in my world." 

His voice dropped lower, possessive and certain.

"And I protect what's mine with everything I have."

"Yours," Izuku repeated, something warm and desperate unfurling in his chest despite everything, despite the blood on his conscience and the trembling in his hands and the memory that wouldn't stop replaying.

"Mine." Katsuki's voice carried absolute conviction. "And that means you don't walk into danger alone anymore. Ever. I don't care if you think it's to protect me. I don't care if you think it's strategic or necessary or the right tactical choice. You don't face threats without me. Not anymore."

"That's not practical—"

"I don't give a fuck about practical." 

Katsuki's hands moved to frame Izuku's face again, forcing eye contact, demanding Izuku see the truth in every word.

"Three weeks. That was the deal we made. Three weeks for you to be sure, to see this world clearly, to make a choice with full information. But I'm changing the terms."

"What?" Izuku's heart stuttered in his chest.

"I'm not waiting three weeks anymore. I can't. Not after today." 

Katsuki's eyes were burning, intense enough to feel like a physical touch.

"You walked into danger thinking about me. You killed someone and the first thing you thought was that you wanted to come back to me. You chose protecting me—protecting what we're building—over your own safety. That's—" 

He stopped, jaw working, struggling with words that clearly didn't come easily.

"That's everything, Deku. That's the answer I needed. Not whether you can survive in this world. You proved that today. Whether you can kill without breaking. You did that too. Whether you actually give a shit about more than just the political alliance..." 

His voice went rough, raw.

"You proved that when you used thoughts of me to stay alive."

Izuku's heart was hammering so hard he thought it might break through his ribs. "Kacchan—"

"I'm in love with you." 

The words came out like a confession and a declaration and a promise all at once.

"I've been falling since you stood up to my mother in that first meeting and refused to back down. Since you burned your notebook without hesitation to prove a point. Since you kept showing up every morning at five-thirty even though I was putting you through hell, determined to prove you belonged here. Since you looked at me in the library and admitted you didn't know if what you felt was attraction or just intensity, but you weren't afraid of finding out."

He stopped, breathing hard, eyes never leaving Izuku's.

"And today, when I got that message, when I thought I might lose you before I ever got to say any of this—before I got to tell you that somewhere along the way you stopped being a political obligation and became someone I can't imagine losing—" 

His voice cracked.

"Fuck the three weeks. Fuck the trial period. Fuck being objective and strategic and careful. I'm done pretending this is just about alliance and I'm done keeping my distance to give you space to choose. You already chose. You proved it today."

"I killed someone," Izuku said, and he didn't know if it was a protest or a confession or a plea for Katsuki to understand what he was saying. "This morning I killed someone and my hands are still shaking and I don't know if I'm the same person I was yesterday."

"You're not the same person," Katsuki agreed, his voice unbearably gentle. "You'll never be that person again—the one who could walk through this world without blood on his hands, without that weight in his chest. But that doesn't mean I don't want you. It means I want to be here while you figure out who you are now. While you learn to carry this weight. While you survive becoming someone who understands what this life really costs."

"What if I can't? What if I break?" The fear tasted bitter.

"You can. You will." 

Katsuki leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Izuku's with devastating gentleness.

"And I'll be here. Every morning at five-thirty when you can't sleep because the nightmares won't stop. Every moment you need to talk about it with someone who understands. Every time you need someone to remind you that taking a life to save your own doesn't make you a monster." 

His voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

"Every single moment you need me, I'll be here. That's what I'm offering. Not just a political alliance or a strategic partnership or a convenient arrangement. Actual support. Actual partnership. Someone to face this fucked-up world with and someone who'll hold you together when it tries to break you."

"I want that," Izuku said, and the admission felt enormous, like offering up his entire heart and trusting Katsuki not to crush it. "I want all of that. Even though I'm terrified. Even though I have no idea what I'm doing or who I'm becoming. Even though I'm falling apart right now—I want it. I want you."

"Good." 

Katsuki's smile was genuine now, warm and almost tender despite the fierceness still burning in his eyes.

"Because you're stuck with me now. No more walking into danger alone. No more making decisions to 'protect' me by risking yourself. No more sacrificing your safety for mine. We're partners now. We face things together or not at all. Those are the new terms."

"Partners," Izuku repeated, testing the word on his tongue. It felt right. Solid. Real. Like something he could build a life around.

"Partners," Katsuki confirmed with finality. Then, after a pause: "Though I'm still pissed you didn't tell me about the meeting. That was stupid and reckless and I'm going to be angry about it for a while."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't do it again. Ever. I mean it, Deku. You pull shit like that again and I'll lock you in this estate until you understand that your life matters to more people than just you."

"I won't. I promise." Izuku meant it with everything he had. "No more decisions alone."

"Good." 

Katsuki's hands finally dropped from Izuku's face, though he didn't step back entirely, staying close enough that Izuku could feel his body heat.

"Now, before we go face my mother and the inevitable shitstorm of figuring out who's trying to sabotage this alliance, I need to ask you something. And I need you to answer honestly, not what you think I want to hear."

"Okay."

"When you shot him. When you made that choice." 

Katsuki's eyes were searching, serious, looking for truth beneath whatever answer Izuku gave.

"Was it really self-defense? Pure survival instinct? Or did some part of you want to prove you could do it—prove you could handle this world, prove you belonged here, prove you weren't just some soft civilian playing at yakuza?"

The question was uncomfortably perceptive, cutting right to something Izuku had barely admitted to himself. He thought about it, really considered what had been going through his head in that split second when everything changed.

"Both," he finally admitted, the word tasting like truth and shame mixed together. "I saw him reach for his weapon and my body just reacted. Everything you taught me, everything I learned at that range and in that dojo… it all took over. Muscle memory and survival instinct." 

He forced himself to maintain eye contact.

"But afterward, when I was standing there and he was on the ground, I realized what I'd done… there was this moment where I thought, 'I did it. I proved something.' That I'm not just some civilian playing at being part of this world. That I can actually do this, handle the violence and the darkness and all the terrible things that come with choosing this life." 

His voice went quiet.

"Does that make me a bad person? That part of me felt something like pride mixed in with the horror?"

"No." 

Katsuki's answer was immediate and certain.

"It makes you someone who's learning to survive in a world where violence is real and necessary. Most people in your position would have frozen, or tried to run, or hesitated long enough to get themselves killed. You adapted. You responded. You survived." 

His expression was thoughtful, considering.

"That's not bad, Deku. That's not something to be ashamed of. That's what this world requires—the ability to do terrible things when necessary and still keep moving forward. The pride you felt wasn't about enjoying violence. It was about surviving your first real test and proving to yourself that you can handle what comes next."

"It doesn't feel like something to be proud of. It feels like I lost something I can't get back."

"You did lose something. Your innocence, maybe. The ability to pretend violence is something that happens to other people in other places." 

Katsuki's voice was gentle but uncompromising.

"But that loss isn't about pride or shame. It's about capability and reality. You walked into that warehouse as one person and walked out as someone different. Someone who's crossed a line that can't be uncrossed, someone who understands in their bones and not just their head what this life actually costs." 

He paused.

"That's heavy, Deku. That's going to weigh on you for the rest of your life. But it also means you understand now, in a way you couldn't before, exactly what you're choosing. Exactly what being part of this world really means."

Izuku nodded slowly, letting those words sink in. "I get it now. Why you train so hard. Why you're so careful about when to use violence and when to avoid it. It's not just strategy or efficiency. It's because every time you pull that trigger, every time you take a life, you lose something. A piece of yourself that you can't get back."

"Yeah." Katsuki's voice was quiet, heavy with shared understanding. "But you also protect something. The people you care about. The world you're trying to build. The future you want to have. Sometimes the cost is worth it. You lose something, but you save something more important."

"And sometimes you just have to live with the weight and hope it doesn't crush you."

"That too." 

Katsuki squeezed Izuku's shoulder, grounding and real.

"Come on. Let's go face the music. My mother's probably wearing a hole in her office floor pacing, and we need to figure out who sent that asshole after you before they try again.”

They walked toward the main house together, Katsuki's presence a constant at Izuku's side. Not quite touching, but close enough that Izuku could feel the heat radiating from him, a living shield between him and the rest of the world. Each step felt heavier than the last, exhaustion creeping in now that the immediate danger had passed.

Ashido materialized outside Mitsuki's office like she'd been waiting for them, which she probably had. Her expression was carefully neutral, professionally blank, but her eyes were assessing, cataloguing every detail of Izuku's appearance and demeanor.

"How are you feeling, Midoriya?" Her voice was gentler than usual, the teasing edge completely absent.

"Like I've been hit by a truck," Izuku admitted, because there was no point in lying to someone whose job was literally to read people. "But functional. Mostly."

"Good enough." She glanced at Katsuki, and something unspoken passed between them, some kind of understanding born from years of working together. "Your mom's been on the phone for the past thirty minutes. The cleanup crew confirmed no witnesses, and they're handling disposal. But she wants the full story. Direct from the source."

"She'll get it." 

Katsuki's hand settled on the small of Izuku's back, the touch proprietary and comforting in equal measure. A statement to anyone watching: mine, protected, not alone. 

"Both of us."

Ashido's eyebrows rose fractionally at the casual intimacy of the gesture, at how naturally Katsuki touched him despite everything that had just happened. But she was too professional to comment, just nodded once and stepped aside.

"Go on in. I'll be out here if you need anything. Water, food, someone to punch, whatever helps." The corner of her mouth quirked. "Preferably not me, though. I bruise easily. I'll grab Eijirou. He's sturdier."

Despite everything, Izuku felt his lips twitch toward something that might have been a smile in a different circumstance. "Noted."

Mitsuki's office felt smaller than usual, the air heavier, or maybe that was just the weight of what Izuku had to report pressing down on him like a physical thing. She stood by the window with her back to them, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand gesturing sharply as she spoke in rapid, clipped Japanese that Izuku couldn't quite catch.

She turned as they entered, finishing her conversation with a terse "Handle it" before ending the call.

"Izuku. Sit." 

Her voice was clipped, professional, every inch the yakuza matriarch and not the woman who'd been teaching him business operations just yesterday. This was Bakugo Mitsuki in full command mode, assessing a situation and determining next moves. However, her use of his given name and the lack of honorifics gave him pause. 

"I need you to walk me through everything that happened from the moment you received that message. Don't leave anything out. Not what he said, not what you felt, not a single detail. Everything matters now."

Izuku sat, hyperaware of every movement, every sound. Katsuki settled beside him close enough that their thighs pressed together, his body heat seeping through fabric and grounding Izuku in the present moment. Having him there made it easier somehow. Made the words come more naturally, like Katsuki's presence was a tether keeping him from drifting too far into the memory.

He walked through the entire encounter methodically, forcing himself to start with the message even though Mitsuki already knew that part. Starting from the beginning made it feel more like a report and less like a confession, more clinical and less personal. The decision to go. The logic behind it. The warehouse itself, dimensions, layout, exits he'd catalogued automatically.

Every word the man had said, delivered in that calm, reasonable tone that had made the threats somehow worse. Every photograph shown, his father's unguarded back, Katsuki's profile on that side street, proof they'd been watching and waiting and planning.

The moment when negotiation shifted to violence.

"He reached for his weapon," Izuku said, his voice steady despite his racing heart, despite the way his hands wanted to shake again just remembering. "I drew faster. Aimed center mass like you taught me. Fired."

The words came out flat, mechanical, stripped of emotion because that was the only way he could say them without breaking.

"And then?"

"Collected his phone and wallet. Checked for additional weapons, there was a backup piece at his ankle. Left it." Izuku pulled both items from his pockets and set them on Mitsuki's desk with careful precision, like they might explode if handled roughly. "I thought they might be useful for identifying who sent him. The phone especially."

Mitsuki picked up the phone, turning it over in her hands with the practiced ease of someone who'd done this before. Many times before.

"Good thinking. Clear head under pressure." She looked at Katsuki, and something passed between them. Pride, maybe, or acknowledgment. "You trained him well. Most civilians would have panicked or frozen. Certainly wouldn't have thought to gather intelligence before leaving the scene."

"He's not most civilians," Katsuki said, and the pride in his voice was unmistakable now, warm and certain and possessive.

"Clearly." 

Mitsuki's attention returned to Izuku, her sharp eyes cataloguing every detail of his appearance, looking for cracks in his composure the way she'd look for weaknesses in a business proposal.

"There was no incident at the scene. Do I need to have the car detailed?"

It took Izuku a moment to understand what she was really asking. Whether he'd thrown up. Whether there was physical evidence of his breakdown that needed to be cleaned up before anyone else saw it.

He shook his head. "No. As of right now, I haven't thrown up. Hopefully if and when I do, I'll be near a bathroom and not somewhere inconvenient."

"Wha—"

Katsuki's startled question was interrupted by Mitsuki's bark of laughter, sharp and genuine and completely unexpected. It transformed her face, made her look younger and less intimidating, more human.

"That's really something." She shook her head, still smiling. "I can name only three people who can claim that achievement after their first kill. You would make the fourth." 

The smile faded, replaced by something more serious but no less approving.

"What you did today was dangerous. Reckless. Going alone was foolish, even with backup positioned nearby. I know we agreed to it, but in hindsight, I should have considered more variables. That man could have had partners waiting. Could have been wearing a vest that would have stopped your shot. Could have been faster than you. You took an enormous risk that could have gotten you killed."

"I know." Izuku's throat felt tight. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't." She cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Don't apologize for surviving. Don't apologize for making a choice that kept you alive." 

She paused, considering her next words carefully.

"But understand that we're going to have a longer conversation about threat assessment and acceptable risk parameters. Because this can't happen again. You going off alone, I mean. Even with backup. Even with good reasons. The variables are too unpredictable."

She set the phone down, her expression softening fractionally, just enough to let him see past the matriarch to the mother underneath.

"However. You also demonstrated exactly the kind of quick thinking and capability we need in this family. You gathered intelligence under pressure. You assessed the threat accurately. And when violence became necessary, you didn't hesitate. That takes a particular kind of courage that can't be taught."

"It took fear," Izuku corrected quietly, needing her to understand. "I was terrified. Still am. It wasn't courage. It was just... instinct and terror and not wanting to die."

"Fear is useful. It keeps you alert, keeps you from being stupid and overconfident." Mitsuki leaned back against her desk. "Courage isn't the absence of fear, Izuku. It's acting despite the fear, doing what needs to be done even when every instinct is screaming at you to run. You had that today. Don't diminish it."

She picked up the phone again, turning it over thoughtfully.

"The question now is who sent him. The phone looks encrypted. Good security, military grade, not the kind of thing you pick up at a consumer electronics store. But our tech people can break that. They're very motivated." Her smile was sharp. "The wallet has identification, though it's likely fake. We'll run it anyway. Sometimes people get sloppy, use a real ID from an old life. Worth checking."

"He mentioned 'mutual interests,'" Izuku said, pulling himself back into analytical mode because that was easier than dwelling on the emotional weight. "People who would benefit from the power structure remaining fluid. Not one specific faction, but multiple parties with aligned goals. My guess is either Endeavor trying to destabilize us before we become too strong to challenge, or one of the smaller syndicates who are worried about a Bakugo-Midoriya alliance shifting the balance too far in our favor."

"Very good assessment." Mitsuki pulled up something on her computer, fingers flying across the keyboard. "We've already started investigating based on Ashido's initial report. There have been rumors for weeks about someone trying to destabilize our alliance before it solidifies. Whispers in bars, careful questions asked in the wrong places, money changing hands in unusual patterns. Today's incident confirms those rumors have teeth. Someone's actively working against us, and they're willing to kill to make it happen."

Katsuki leaned forward, all business now. "What's the plan?"

"Increased security for both families. No one travels alone anymore. Not family, not close associates, not anyone whose death or disappearance would weaken us. All movements are coordinated and monitored. I want to know where everyone is at all times." 

Mitsuki's gaze settled on Izuku specifically, heavy and uncompromising.

"You, especially, don't leave this estate without an escort. Multiple escorts, actually. Someone just tried to eliminate you or drive you away. They'll try again if they think they have an opening, and next time they might be smarter about it. Might use a sniper instead of a face-to-face confrontation. Might target someone you care about to hurt you indirectly. We can't give them that opportunity."

"I understand." And he did, even though the thought of being that restricted made something in his chest tighten.

"Do you?" Mitsuki's voice wasn't condescending or aggressive, instead it was curious. "Because earlier today you walked into a trap thinking you were protecting my son. What you actually did was make yourself a target and nearly gave me a heart attack in the process. You almost got killed trying to keep Katsuki safe, when the entire point of this alliance is that we protect each other. That means both directions, Izuku. Not just you throwing yourself into danger while we watch helplessly."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize to me." She gestured at Katsuki. "Apologize to him. He's the one who thought he was going to lose you before he ever got a chance to actually have you. He's the one who's going to have nightmares about getting that phone call, about being too late, about finding you dead in some warehouse."

Katsuki's jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it. His hand found Izuku's under the table, gripping hard enough to hurt, hard enough to ground them both.

"I already apologized," Izuku said quietly, turning his hand to lace their fingers together properly. "And I promised. No more decisions alone. We face things together."

"Good. See that you remember that." 

Mitsuki's expression was stern, unyielding, but there was something almost maternal underneath. The fierce protectiveness of someone who'd already claimed him as hers to protect.

"Don't make me watch him go through that again. Don't make me have to tell your father that you got yourself killed being heroic and stupid. And don't make me regret taking a chance on you."

She paused, letting that sink in.

"You're part of this family now, Izuku. Whether the official marriage happens or not, whether the trial period technically ends or not. You killed for us today. You protected our interests and our people. You proved you're willing to do what's necessary to survive in this world. That means something here. That means you're one of us, blood or not."

"It means you're one of us," Katsuki echoed, his hand squeezing Izuku's again. "I said it earlier and I'm saying it again now. No more trial period. No more testing to see if you belong or if you're worthy. You've proven everything you needed to prove. Multiple times over, actually."

Mitsuki studied them both for a long moment, her gaze moving between their faces, their joined hands, the way Katsuki angled his body slightly toward Izuku even sitting still. Reading the situation with the skill of someone who'd spent decades assessing alliances and relationships.

"You've made your decision, then. Both of you."

"Yes," Katsuki said firmly, no hesitation, no doubt.

"Yes," Izuku echoed, meaning it with everything he had.

"Then we'll make it official. The engagement stands. No more provisional period, no more contingencies. Wedding planning begins immediately. I'll coordinate with your father about the details, though given recent events, we might want to move up the timeline. Strike while we're strong and send a message to anyone watching that we're not backing down." 

Mitsuki's smile was sharp, dangerous, promising violence to anyone who tried to interfere.

"And anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me personally. I'll be happy to explain our position in terms they'll understand."

Something warm bloomed in Izuku's chest despite everything. Despite the blood on his conscience and the trembling that still threatened at the edge of his control and the memory of a man falling that wouldn't stop replaying behind his eyes. Despite all of it, this felt right. Felt like coming home after a long journey, like finding something he hadn't known he was searching for.

"There's one more thing," Mitsuki said, her expression shifting to something more calculating. "The Todoroki family has requested a meeting. Endeavor specifically. He wants to discuss 'recent developments' and 'mutual concerns.'" 

Her tone made it clear what she thought of Endeavor's timing.

"If he is one of the people behind today he's testing us," Katsuki said immediately, his tactical mind already working through implications. "Trying to figure out if we're weakened or vulnerable after the attack. Seeing if there are cracks he can exploit, if Deku's presence is a liability instead of an asset."

"That's my assessment as well." Mitsuki's expression was calculating, already strategizing. "Which is exactly why we're going to accept. We'll show him we're stronger than ever. That attempts to destabilize this alliance have only made it more solid, more committed. That we're not hiding or cowering or pretending this didn't happen."

"When?" Izuku asked, already dreading the answer.

"Three days. Gives us time to prepare but doesn't look like we're stalling or afraid. Neutral location. I'm thinking of that restaurant in Ginza, the one with the private rooms. Full security for both sides. Professional, civilized, completely transparent about the fact that we don't trust each other but we're willing to talk." 

Mitsuki looked at Izuku specifically, her gaze intent.

"You'll be there. Visible. Showing that you're not intimidated and not going anywhere. That you survived an assassination attempt this morning and you're sitting down to dinner tonight like nothing happened. That sends a message louder than any words we could say."

"I'll be there," Izuku confirmed, even though the thought of facing Endeavor again made his stomach twist with something that might have been fear or might have been rage. Hard to tell anymore.

"Good." 

Mitsuki stood, indicating the meeting was over.

"Now both of you, get some rest. You've had an eventful morning, and you both look like you're about to fall over. Tonight, family dinner at seven sharp. Everyone needs to see you together, strong, unified. No cracks for enemies to exploit, no weaknesses for rivals to probe. We present a united front and we remind everyone in this organization exactly why the Bakugo family doesn't back down."

They left the office, Ashido still waiting outside like a guardian statue. She fell into step beside them without being asked, her presence another layer of protection even though the estate itself was supposed to be safe.

Izuku felt exhaustion crash over him like a wave now that the debriefing was done, now that he didn't have to hold himself together for Mitsuki's assessment. The adrenaline that had kept him functional was finally wearing off completely, leaving him hollow and shaky, like a building with the supports removed.

"Come on," Katsuki said, steering him down a hallway Izuku didn't recognize. Not toward the guest quarters where he'd been staying. Somewhere else. "My room. You're not spending the rest of the day alone."

"Your room?" Izuku's exhausted brain tried to process the implications of that.

"You really think I'm letting you out of my sight after today?" 

Katsuki's voice was gentle but absolutely uncompromising, leaving no room for argument even if Izuku had wanted to make one.

"You need rest. You need to process what happened in a safe space. And when everything hits you, when the dissociation fades and reality comes crashing in the way it's going to, you need someone who understands. Someone who's been there. Someone who won't try to fix it or minimize it or tell you it's all going to be okay when it's not."

Izuku just nodded, exhausted.

Katsuki opened a door, revealing a space that was surprisingly personal. Not the stark, impersonal room Izuku had expected for the yakuza heir, but something that actually looked lived-in, comfortable, human.

Bookshelves crammed with everything from military strategy texts to manga volumes. A desk covered in papers and maps and what looked like hand-drawn schematics. The drum kit in one corner, well-used and clearly played regularly. A bed that looked actually comfortable instead of just functional. Scattered evidence of a person who existed beyond his role, a half-empty coffee mug, discarded jacket, dog-eared paperback on the nightstand.

"This is your room," Izuku said unnecessarily, looking around and seeing Katsuki everywhere in the details.

"Yeah. Make yourself comfortable." 

Katsuki pulled off his jacket and tossed it over a chair with practiced ease.

"You want to sleep? Talk? Just sit in silence and breathe for a while? Your call. Whatever you need."

Izuku looked around the room, this intimate glimpse into Katsuki's private space, and felt something crack open in his chest. Not breaking, not shattering or collapsing. Opening. Making room for something new and terrifying and necessary.

"Can I just... stay close? For a while?"

"Yeah." Katsuki's expression softened into something almost tender. "Come here."

Izuku crossed to where Katsuki stood by the bed, and without hesitation, Katsuki pulled him close. Arms wrapping around him in a hold that felt like safety and promise and home all at once, solid and warm and real in a way nothing else had felt since the gunshot.

They stood like that for a long time, just breathing together. Izuku's hands clutched at Katsuki's shirt like a lifeline, face pressed against his shoulder, surrounded by the scent of him, gunpowder and expensive soap and something underneath that was just Katsuki. And for the first time since the gunshot, since watching a man fall, since feeling the recoil of ending a life, he felt like maybe he could survive this.

"Thank you," Izuku whispered into the fabric of Katsuki's shirt. "For not running away. For not being afraid of what I did. For not looking at me like I'm someone different now."

"I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid for you." 

Katsuki's arms tightened, holding him closer, like he could keep the weight of the world from crushing Izuku through sheer force of will.

"But we'll get through this. Together. However long it takes, whatever it costs, we'll get through it together."

"Partners."

"Partners," Katsuki confirmed with certainty. Then, quieter, more vulnerable: "And maybe something more. If you still want that. If today didn't change how you feel about—about this. About us."

Izuku pulled back just enough to look at his face, to see the uncertainty there that Katsuki almost never showed. "I told you I was falling in love with you. That hasn't changed."

"Even after today?"

"Especially after today." 

Izuku's voice was raw, scraped clean of any pretense or protection.

"Because you're here. Because you understand what this costs and you're not trying to minimize it. Because you're not trying to fix me or tell me it's okay when it's not. You're just... here. Solid. Real. Something I can hold onto when everything else feels like it's sliding sideways."

"I'll always be here." 

Katsuki's hand came up to cup Izuku's face, thumb brushing across his cheekbone in that now-familiar gesture that never failed to ground him.

"From now on, you don't face anything alone. Good or bad, easy or impossible. We face it together. That's the deal. That's the promise I'm making to you right now."

"I can work with that," Izuku said, echoing his words from their first real conversation over the koi pond, when this had all still felt impossible and terrifying in different ways.

Katsuki smiled, genuine and warm, transforming his face from fierce to something softer. Then he leaned in slowly, deliberately, giving Izuku every chance to pull away if he wanted to. And pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lips warm and gentle against his skin.

It wasn't the passionate kiss Izuku had imagined during those charged moments at training. Wasn't the desperate, claiming kiss from earlier that afternoon when Katsuki had first seen him alive and whole. This was something gentler, more patient. Something that spoke of a different kind of promise. The long road ahead, the commitment to walk it together, the understanding that some things couldn't be rushed.

"Rest," Katsuki murmured against his skin, lips moving against his forehead. "I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."

They moved to the bed, and Izuku let himself be arranged, let Katsuki pull him down to lie against his chest with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding and real beneath Izuku's ear. The trembling in his hands slowly eased, absorbed into the warmth of Katsuki's body, the security of his arms.

"Kacchan?" Izuku said quietly into the comfortable silence.

"Yeah?"

"What happens now? After today? After everything that's changed?"

"Now?" 

Katsuki's hand moved in slow, soothing circles across Izuku's back, the repetitive motion meditative and calming.

"Now we plan a wedding. Now we figure out who tried to eliminate you and make absolutely certain they regret it. Now we build the partnership we both want. Not the one that was forced on us, but the one we're choosing. Now we live. We keep moving forward even when it feels impossible."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." 

Katsuki's voice was firm, certain, unshakeable in a way that made Izuku believe it might actually be possible.

"You killed someone today. That's real. That happened. You'll carry that weight for the rest of your life, and it'll change you in ways you can't predict yet. But that doesn't mean you stop living. It means you learn to live with it. You learn to carry the weight without letting it crush you. You learn that you can do terrible things and still be worthy of love, still be worthy of a future."

Izuku closed his eyes, letting those words sink in, letting them fill the hollow places inside him. Learning to live with it. Not forgetting or forgiving or pretending it didn't happen. Just... carrying it and moving forward anyway. Accepting it as part of who he was now.

"I'm glad I met you," Izuku said, the admission quiet but absolute. "Even though it started with deception and politics and everything being forced on both of us. Even though it led to this. I'm glad."

"Me too." 

Katsuki's arms tightened around him, protective and possessive and gentle all at once.

"Now sleep. I'll wake you for dinner. And Deku?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not going anywhere. Even if you have nightmares. Even if you wake up panicking. Even if processing this gets messy and hard. I'll be right here. That's not conditional. That's not something you have to earn. It just is."

"Promise you won't leave?"

"Promise."

Izuku let himself drift, held safe in Katsuki's arms, surrounded by his warmth and his heartbeat and the steady reminder that he was alive, he was safe, and he wasn't alone. For the first time since pulling that trigger, since watching a man fall, since crossing a line he could never uncross. He felt like maybe he could survive this. Like maybe the person he was becoming, harder and scarred but still capable of love and connection and building something real, could exist in this world.

The drums were silent in the training room. The estate was quiet beyond the door. And Izuku slept, finally, with the steady beat of Katsuki's heart reminding him that he was alive, that he was protected, and that he wasn't alone.

Not anymore.

Never again.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke to the feeling of fingers carding gently through his hair.

For a disoriented moment, he couldn't place where he was. The bed was too comfortable, the room smelled different, not wrong, just different, and there was warmth pressed against his side that shouldn't be there.

Then the memories came crashing back like the coolaid man through a wall. The warehouse. The gunshot. Katsuki's arms around him.

"Easy," Katsuki's voice rumbled from beside him, low and soothing. "You're safe. Just me."

Izuku's eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light filtering through curtains he didn't remember Katsuki closing. The room was shadowed, late afternoon sun creating soft patterns on the walls.

"What time is it?" His voice came out rough, scratchy from sleep.

"Almost six. You slept for about four hours." Katsuki's hand continued its gentle movement through Izuku's hair, clearly unconcerned about the time. "You were restless for a while, but you didn't wake up."

"Nightmares?"

"Don't know. You didn't scream or anything. Just... twitched. Made sounds." Katsuki's voice was carefully neutral. "I figured if you needed to wake up, you would."

Izuku closed his eyes again, taking inventory of himself. His body felt heavy, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion. His mind felt clearer than it had in the car, but there was a weight sitting in his chest that he suspected would be there for a while.

"How are you feeling?" Katsuki asked quietly.

"Like I got hit by a truck, put back together wrong, and then hit by another truck." Izuku turned his head to look at Katsuki properly. "But better than before. Less like I'm going to fly apart at any second."

"That's something." Katsuki's hand moved from his hair to cup his jaw, thumb brushing across his cheekbone in that grounding gesture Izuku was quickly becoming addicted to. "You want to talk about it? The sleep? The nightmares you may or may not have had?"

"Not really." Izuku paused, considering. "Maybe later. Right now I just want to... exist for a minute without thinking about it."

"Fair enough." Katsuki's expression was understanding. "We've got about an hour before dinner. You want to shower? Change clothes? My stuff will be too big on you, but I can have Ashido grab something from your room."

The thought of moving, of leaving this cocoon of safety and warmth, made Izuku's chest tighten. But he also felt grimy, awareness of the day's events clinging to his skin like invisible residue.

"Shower sounds good," he admitted. "But I don't want to go back to my room yet."

"You don't have to." Katsuki sat up carefully, the mattress shifting beneath them. "I've got a bathroom. Use whatever you need. And Deku?" He waited until Izuku looked at him. "Take your time. There's no rush."

---

The shower helped more than Izuku expected.

Standing under hot water, letting it pound against his shoulders and wash away the day's accumulated tension, gave him space to think without the pressure of someone watching or waiting for him to break down or process correctly.

His hands had stopped shaking entirely now. That should have felt like progress, like healing. Instead, it felt vaguely disturbing, like his body had already adapted to what he'd done, already accepted it as just another thing that happened.

'Is that how it works?' he wondered, watching water spiral down the drain. 'You just... get used to it? The weight becomes familiar enough that you stop noticing?'

He thought about Katsuki saying he'd thrown up for twenty minutes after his first kill. Couldn't sleep for days. But now he moved through the world with casual confidence, capable of violence but not consumed by it.

Maybe that was the goal. Not to forget or to stop caring, but to integrate it. To become someone who could carry that weight without collapsing under it.

Izuku turned off the water and dried off with one of Katsuki's towels, soft and expensive and smelling faintly like him. When he emerged from the bathroom, steam billowing out behind him with just a towel wrapped around his waist, he found fresh clothes laid out on the bed.

His clothes. From his room.

Katsuki stood by the window, looking out over the estate grounds with his phone pressed to his ear. He glanced over as Izuku appeared, his eyes tracking across Izuku's bare torso with undisguised appreciation before he visibly forced his attention back to his call.

"—don't care about the logistics. Make it happen. I want full surveillance on anyone who's had contact with that business in the past six months. Someone hired that asshole, and they left a trail." A pause. "Good. Report back tomorrow morning."

He ended the call and pocketed his phone, turning to face Izuku fully.

"Ashido brought your stuff. Said to tell you she's standing guard outside the door until we leave for dinner, because apparently I'm not trustworthy alone with you right now." His lips quirked. "Her words, not mine."

"Are you? Trustworthy?" Izuku asked, and was surprised to find he was almost teasing.

"Probably not." Katsuki crossed to him slowly, deliberately, giving Izuku every chance to step back if he wanted. "But I'm also not an asshole. You've had a shit day. I'm not going to make it worse by being inappropriate."

He stopped just in front of Izuku, close enough that Izuku could feel his body heat, close enough to touch but not touching. His eyes were warm, concerned, with that edge of heat that suggested he was very aware of exactly how little Izuku was wearing.

"Though for the record," Katsuki added, his voice dropping lower, "you're making it really fucking difficult to be respectful right now."

Despite everything, despite the weight still sitting in his chest and the memory that wouldn't stop replaying, Izuku felt warmth bloom low in his stomach. Want, simple and uncomplicated and so normal compared to everything else he'd felt today.

"Maybe I don't want you to be respectful," Izuku heard himself say.

Katsuki's eyes darkened. "Deku—"

"I'm not saying—I don't mean—" Izuku struggled to articulate what he wanted. "I just mean I don't want to be treated like I'm breakable. Like you have to walk on eggshells around me because of what happened. I want..." He took a breath. "I want to feel normal for a minute. I want to feel like something other than the person who killed someone today."

Understanding crossed Katsuki's face, followed by something that looked almost like relief. "Okay. I can do that." He stepped closer, closing that last bit of distance. "But we're taking it slow. And if at any point you need to stop, you tell me. No questions, no judgment. Deal?"

"Deal."

Katsuki's hand came up to cup Izuku's jaw, tilting his face up slightly. "You're fucking beautiful, you know that? Even exhausted and traumatized and probably still in shock. Fucking beautiful."

Then he kissed him, slow and careful and nothing like the desperate press of lips from earlier. This was exploratory, patient, giving Izuku time to respond or pull away or change his mind.

Izuku melted into it, his hands coming up to grip Katsuki's shoulders for balance. The kiss deepened gradually, Katsuki's tongue sliding against his in a way that made his knees weak and his brain go pleasantly fuzzy.

It was perfect. It was exactly what he needed, proof that he could still feel something other than horror and exhaustion, that he was still capable of want and connection and heat.

They pulled apart slowly, Katsuki's breathing noticeably heavier.

"We should stop," he said, though his hands hadn't left Izuku's waist. "Before I forget I'm supposed to be respectful."

"What if I don't want you to stop?" Izuku asked, surprised by his own boldness.

"Then I'd say you need to get dressed first, because there's no way I'm starting something we can't finish when we've got dinner in—" he glanced at his watch, "—forty minutes and my mother will absolutely send someone to drag us downstairs if we're late."

Reality crashed back in, and Izuku stepped back reluctantly. "Right. Dinner. Family dinner where everyone's going to be watching us."

"Yeah." Katsuki's expression shifted from heated to serious. "It's going to be intense. Everyone knows what happened today… at least the broad strokes. They're going to be assessing, looking for weakness or cracks. My mother wants us to present a united front."

"Any advice for surviving it?"

"Don't show fear. Don't apologize for defending yourself. And stay close to me." Katsuki's hand found his again, squeezing. "I'll handle anyone who crosses a line."

---

Forty minutes later, Izuku found himself walking into the dining hall with Katsuki at his side and Ashido trailing behind them like a pink-haired shadow.

The room fell silent as they entered.

Every seat was filled, more people than Izuku had seen at any previous dinner. Family members, associates, guards, everyone who mattered in the organization, all gathered to witness this moment.

To see if Izuku would break. Or hold.

Mitsuki stood at the head of the table, Masaru beside her. Her expression was carefully neutral, but Izuku caught the flash of approval when she saw him walking steady, saw him and Katsuki move in sync like they'd been doing this for years instead of weeks.

"Sit," she said simply, gesturing to their usual places.

The meal began with uncomfortable formality. Plates were filled, drinks were poured, but conversation was muted. Everyone was watching, waiting for something.

Izuku forced himself to eat, to go through the motions of normalcy even though his stomach was twisted with anxiety. Katsuki's thigh pressed against his under the table, a constant reminder that he wasn't alone.

Halfway through the meal, movement at the far end of the table caught his attention.

Goto stood, his expression unreadable.

The entire room went quiet.

"I need to say something," Goto said, his voice carrying clearly through the hall. His eyes fixed on Izuku with an intensity that made Izuku's hand instinctively move closer to where he knew Katsuki kept a weapon.

Katsuki tensed beside him, ready to intervene.

"Midoriya-san," Goto continued, and the use of the respectful honorific was surprising. "I owe you an apology."

Izuku blinked, certain he'd misheard.

"When you first arrived here, I saw you as a threat. An unknown. A liability forced on this family through your father's deception." Goto's jaw was tight, like the words were being dragged out of him. "I tested you. Pushed you. Tried to make you quit or prove you didn't belong."

"I remember," Izuku said carefully.

"I was wrong." The admission seemed to cost him. "What you did today… walking into that warehouse, handling a threat alone, making the choice you made and living with it… that takes guts. Real guts, not the bullshit posturing most people do."

He paused, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"I've been in this life for fifteen years. I've killed men who deserved it and men who didn't. I've seen people break under the pressure, seen them run or freeze or completely fall apart when violence became real instead of theoretical." His eyes met Izuku's directly. "You didn't break. You did what needed to be done and you're still standing. That earns respect."

The silence in the hall was absolute now, everyone watching this unexpected moment.

"So I'm apologizing," Goto continued, his voice steady despite the obvious discomfort. "For underestimating you. For treating you like dead weight instead of a potential asset. For making this transition harder than it needed to be."

He stopped, then added with brutal honesty: "That said, I still don't like you. You're too analytical, too calculating, too much of a strategist for my taste. You think three steps ahead when I prefer direct action. We're never going to be friends."

Despite himself, despite everything, Izuku felt his lips twitch toward something that might have been a smile.

"But respect?" Goto continued. "Yeah. You've got that now. What you did today… walking into danger to protect this family's interests, proving you're willing to do the hard shit instead of hiding behind your father's money or Bakugo's protection… that matters here. That means something."

He gave a short, sharp bow, not deep, not deferential, but a clear sign of acknowledgment among equals.

"So. I was wrong about you. And I'm man enough to admit it."

Then he sat down, clearly done with the speech, his expression suggesting he'd rather be anywhere else.

The silence stretched for another beat before Mitsuki spoke.

"Thank you, Goto. That was... unexpectedly mature of you." Her tone was dry, but there was approval underneath. "Anyone else have something they'd like to say?"

Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd. Izuku caught fragments of conversation: "—takes real courage—" "—didn't think a civilian could—" "—proved himself—"

Katsuki's hand found his under the table again, squeezing hard enough to ground him.

"You okay?" he murmured, quiet enough that only Izuku could hear.

"Yeah," Izuku said, and realized he meant it. "Just... surprised."

"Goto's an asshole, but he's honest. If he says you've earned his respect, he means it." Katsuki's thumb traced circles on the back of Izuku's hand. "Though him admitting he was wrong might be the most shocking thing that's happened today."

Despite everything, the weight in his chest, the memory that wouldn't fade, the exhaustion that sat bone-deep, Izuku found himself almost laughing.

"You know what's fucked up?" he said quietly, leaning slightly toward Katsuki so no one else could hear. "This morning I was terrified of Goto. Thought he was going to try to hurt me or sabotage me or make my life miserable. And now he's apologizing and admitting I've earned respect, and somehow that's more unsettling than the threats."

"Welcome to yakuza logic," Katsuki said with a slight smile. "Respect matters more than likability. You can hate someone and still acknowledge they're competent. It's actually more honest than the corporate world, where people pretend to like you while stabbing you in the back."

"I guess that's one way to look at it."

"You do belong here," Mitsuki said firmly, her voice carrying through the hall. "You've proven that multiple times over. And anyone who still has doubts can take it up with me directly." Her smile was sharp. "I'll be happy to clarify the situation."

The rest of dinner passed with notably lighter atmosphere. Conversations resumed, laughter echoed, and Izuku found himself pulled into discussions about everything from upcoming business ventures to an argument about the best ramen shops in Tokyo.

It felt... normal. Like he was actually part of this strange, violent, complicated family instead of just an outsider being tested.

After the meal ended and people began to disperse, Goto approached their table. His expression was still uncomfortable, but determined.

"Midoriya-san," he said, and this time there was no hostility in the honorific. "A word?"

Katsuki started to stand, protective instinct clearly kicking in, but Izuku touched his arm.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "I'll be fine."

"I'm watching," Katsuki promised, his eyes fixed on Goto with predatory intensity. "Try anything and you'll regret it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Goto said dryly.

They stepped away from the table, finding a relatively quiet corner near the windows. Izuku waited, letting Goto set the pace of this conversation.

"I meant what I said," Goto started, his voice gruff. "The apology. The respect. All of it."

"I know."

"But I want you to understand something." Goto's expression was serious now, all pretense stripped away. "Respect in this world isn't just about acknowledging someone's competent. It's about trusting them to have your back when shit goes sideways. About knowing they'll do what needs to be done instead of freezing or running."

"I understand."

"Do you?" Goto leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Because here's the thing, Midoriya. You killed someone today. Made that choice and lived with it. That puts you in a very small group. People who actually understand what this life costs instead of just theorizing about it."

He paused, considering his words.

"I've watched a lot of people come into this organization. Seen them talk big, act tough, pretend they're ready for anything. Most of them fall apart the first time violence becomes real. They freeze. They panic. They make mistakes that get themselves or others killed." His eyes were intense, searching. "You didn't do that. You assessed the threat, made a decision, followed through. That's rare. That's valuable."

"It doesn't feel valuable," Izuku admitted quietly. "It feels like I lost something I can't get back."

"You did." Goto's voice was matter-of-fact, not cruel but not gentle either. "That's the price. Every time you pull that trigger, every time you choose survival over mercy, you lose a little piece of who you were before. Eventually, you become someone different. Someone harder."

"And that's supposed to be... what? Reassuring?"

"No. It's supposed to be honest." Goto straightened, his expression earnest in a way Izuku hadn't seen from him before. "This world doesn't do comfort or reassurance, Midoriya. It does reality. And the reality is you've crossed a line that changes you permanently. But crossing it doesn't make you a monster. It makes you a survivor."

He extended his hand, formal and deliberate.

"I still don't like you. You're everything I'm not. Calculated, strategic, too fucking smart for your own good. We're probably always going to clash on tactics and approach. But I respect you now. I'll have your back when it matters. And I'll stop actively trying to make you quit."

Izuku looked at the offered hand, understanding what it represented. Not friendship. Not alliance in any warm, comforting sense. But acknowledgment. Mutual respect between people who understood the same brutal truths about their world.

He shook it firmly.

"I appreciate that," Izuku said. "And for what it's worth, I respect you too. You're direct in a way I'm not. You see problems and you act. That's valuable in its own right."

"Yeah, well." Goto released his hand, looking uncomfortable with the praise. "Just don't expect me to be nice about it. I'm still going to call you out when you're overthinking shit or being too cautious. That's just who I am."

"I wouldn't expect anything else."

They stood there for a moment in oddly comfortable silence before Goto jerked his head back toward the main room.

"You should get back to Bakugo before he decides I'm taking too long and comes to rescue you. He's been watching us like a hawk this whole time."

Izuku glanced over to find Katsuki indeed staring at them with barely concealed tension, clearly ready to intervene at the slightest sign of trouble.

"He's protective."

"He's possessive," Goto corrected. "There's a difference. But considering what happened today, I don't blame him." His expression grew more serious. "Someone tried to kill you to destabilize this alliance. That means you're a target now. Permanently. Every enemy we have is going to see you as a vulnerability to exploit or a threat to eliminate."

"I know."

"Make sure you actually understand that," Goto said firmly. "This isn't theoretical anymore. You're not just studying the yakuza world from a safe distance. You're in it. Blood in, blood out. And now that you've killed, now that you've proven you belong, you're stuck. There's no going back to your old life."

"I don't want to go back." The words came out steady, certain. "That life was safe but it was suffocating. This is terrifying but it's real. I'm choosing this. All of it."

Goto studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Good. Then maybe you'll survive long enough to actually be useful."

It wasn't exactly warm praise, but coming from Goto, it felt like high commendation.

As Izuku returned to the table, Katsuki immediately stood, his hand finding the small of Izuku's back in that now-familiar possessive gesture.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Izuku said, and meant it. "Actually, surprisingly okay."

"What did he say?"

"That he respects me but still doesn't like me. That I've earned my place here. That I'm stuck now." Izuku leaned slightly into Katsuki's touch. "Basically what you've been telling me, but in Goto's own charming way."

Katsuki's lips twitched. "Charming. That's definitely how I'd describe Goto."

"Shut up," Izuku said, but he was almost smiling now. "It was actually... helpful. In a weird, brutal honesty kind of way."

"That's Goto. Subtle as a brick to the face." Katsuki's hand moved in gentle circles on his back. "You look exhausted. Want to call it a night?"

Izuku glanced around the room. The dinner was winding down, people beginning to disperse. He'd survived it. Proven he wasn't broken. Earned acknowledgment from one of his harshest critics.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm ready."

They said their goodnights, Mitsuki's gaze following them with obvious approval as they left together. Ashido fell into step behind them again, her presence both reassuring and slightly suffocating.

"I can take it from here, Mina," Katsuki said as they reached the residential wing. "You're off duty."

"You sure? After today—"

"I'm sure. He's with me. Nothing's getting to him."

Ashido studied them both for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But if anything happens, if you need backup or support or just someone to talk to, you call me. Anytime. I mean it."

"Thank you," Izuku said, genuinely grateful. "For everything today. For being there. For understanding."

"That's what family does," Ashido said simply. Then she grinned, some of her usual energy returning. "Plus, you're way more interesting than I expected. I'm invested now. Can't let you die before I see how this whole thing plays out."

She disappeared down the hallway, leaving Izuku and Katsuki alone.

"Your room or mine?" Katsuki asked quietly.

"Yours," Izuku said without hesitation. "If that's okay. I just—I don't want to be alone tonight."

"You're not going to be alone." Katsuki's hand found his, lacing their fingers together. "Come on."

They walked in comfortable silence to Katsuki's room, the day's weight settling heavier now that they were away from watching eyes. Inside, Katsuki locked the door and immediately pulled Izuku into his arms.

No words. No questions. Just solid warmth and the steady beat of his heart.

"Thank you," Izuku said into his shoulder. "For everything. For being patient. For understanding. For not treating me like I'm breakable."

"You're not breakable. You're stronger than you think." Katsuki's arms tightened. "But you don't have to be strong all the time. Not with me."

And finally, the last of Izuku's control cracked.

The tears came sudden and overwhelming, racking through his body like a physical force. He clutched at Katsuki's shirt, face pressed against his shoulder, and let himself break down completely.

Katsuki held him through it, one hand in his hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back. He didn't try to stop the tears or tell Izuku it was okay or offer empty comfort.

He just held on, solid and unshakeable, while Izuku fell apart.

"I killed him," Izuku gasped between sobs. "I looked at another person and I pulled the trigger and he's dead because of me and I can't—I can't—"

"I know," Katsuki murmured. "I know. Let it out."

It felt like hours before the tears finally slowed, leaving Izuku exhausted and hollow but somehow lighter. Katsuki guided him to the bed, helped him out of his jacket, and pulled him down to lie against his chest.

"Better?" he asked softly.

"Not really," Izuku admitted. "But... necessary. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense." Katsuki's fingers carded through his hair, the gesture becoming familiar and comforting. "You needed to process. To let yourself actually feel it instead of just surviving it."

"I thought I'd feel guilty. Horrified. Like a monster." Izuku's voice was raw from crying. "And I do feel those things. But I also feel... relieved? That I'm alive? That I survived? And that makes me feel like a monster for different reasons."

"You're not a monster for being glad you're alive." Katsuki's voice was firm. "That's just survival instinct. It's normal. It's human."

"Even after killing someone?"

"Especially after killing someone. It means you haven't completely lost your sense of self-preservation." He paused. "The guilt and horror will come in waves. Sometimes you'll be fine. Sometimes it'll hit you out of nowhere. That's normal too. It doesn't go away, but it becomes easier to carry."

"How long?" Izuku asked quietly. "How long until it stops feeling like this?"

"I can't answer that. Everyone's different." Katsuki's arms tightened around him. "But you don't have to carry it alone. That's the point of this. Of us. You share the weight. You let someone else help you carry it."

Izuku closed his eyes, letting those words sink in. Partnership. Not just romantic attraction or political alliance, but actual support. Actual sharing of burdens.

"I meant what I said earlier," he murmured, exhaustion pulling at him. "I'm falling in love with you. Even after today. Maybe especially after today."

"Good." Katsuki pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Because I'm not letting you go now. You're stuck with me."

"I can live with that."

"Sleep, Deku. I'll be here when you wake up."

And surrounded by warmth and safety and the steady beat of Katsuki's heart, Izuku finally let himself drift off.

The nightmares came, as he knew they would. But each time he jerked awake, gasping and disoriented, Katsuki was there. Holding him. Reminding him where he was. Grounding him in reality.

"I'm here," Katsuki murmured each time. "You're safe. I've got you."

And eventually, Izuku believed him.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the immediate, disorienting realization that he was alone.

He sat up quickly, heart hammering, scanning Katsuki's room with sleep-fogged panic before his brain caught up. A note sat on the pillow beside him, written in sharp, angular handwriting:

‘My training moved and I'll be in the training room until 6 AM. You don't train this morning. You need the rest. Ashido's outside if you need anything. I'll be back by 7 with breakfast.’

‘—K’

‘P.S. Don't even think about leaving this room without security. I mean it.’

Despite the weight of everything still sitting in his chest and the fragments of nightmares clinging to the edges of his consciousness, Izuku found himself almost smiling, until he saw the clock.

The clock read 5:47 AM.

He lay back down, staring at the ceiling, taking inventory of how he felt. Exhausted, yes. Hollowed out in a way that felt permanent. But also... stable. Like the worst of the storm had passed and what remained was just the slow, difficult work of rebuilding.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from an unknown number:

‘This is Ashido. Katsuki asked me to check in. You alive in there?’

Izuku typed back: ‘Alive. Awake. Confused about why I'm off the hook for training but his started already and is running late.’

The response came immediately: ‘He wanted to tire himself out before seeing you. Didn't want to be too intense this morning. Also didn't want to wake you up at 4:30 to brood at you while you slept, which is what he was doing when I found him in the training room at 3 AM.’

‘He was brooding at me?’

‘Like you were going to disappear if he stopped watching. It was actually kind of sweet in a deeply unhealthy way. Anyway, you want coffee? Real coffee, not the terrible instant shit from the kitchen?’

‘Yes please.’

‘Be there in five. Don't open the door for anyone else.’

Izuku dragged himself out of bed and into yesterday's clothes, feeling grimy and rumpled but functional. By the time Ashido knocked, two sharp raps, a pause, then three more, clearly a code, he was presentable enough to not be embarrassing.

She entered with two steaming mugs and a paper bag that smelled like heaven.

"Breakfast pastries from the place in Shibuya. The one that makes those cream-filled things Katsuki pretends he doesn't like but absolutely demolishes when he thinks no one's watching." She handed him a mug and settled into the chair by the window. "How are you really doing?"

"I don't know," Izuku admitted, sinking onto the edge of the bed with his coffee. "Better than yesterday? Worse than I want to be? Somewhere in between?"

"That's pretty normal for day two." Ashido pulled out a pastry and bit into it without ceremony. "The adrenaline's worn off completely. The shock's fading. Now you're just left with the reality of it and no distraction to hide behind."

"Is this the part where you tell me it gets easier?"

"It does. But not in the way people mean when they say that." She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "It doesn't hurt less. You just get better at carrying the hurt. It becomes part of your baseline instead of this overwhelming thing that takes up all your bandwidth."

Izuku sipped his coffee, letting the warmth settle into his chest. "Katsuki said something similar. That you learn to carry the weight instead of letting it crush you."

"He's not wrong. Though he learned that lesson the hard way." Ashido's expression grew more serious. "His first kill fucked him up pretty badly. He was younger than you, less prepared mentally even if he had all the physical training. Mitsuki-sama had to basically force him to talk about it because he was trying to just... power through. Pretend it didn't affect him."

"What changed?"

"He broke down during a family dinner about two weeks later. Just completely fell apart in front of everyone." She shook her head. "That's when he started actually processing instead of just surviving. When he accepted that pretending to be fine wasn't the same as being fine."

Izuku thought about his own breakdown last night, the way he'd clutched at Katsuki's shirt and sobbed until he couldn't breathe. "I don't want to do that again. Fall apart like that."

"You will, though. Probably more than once." Ashido's voice was matter-of-fact, not unkind. "And that's okay. That's healthy, actually. Better than bottling it up until you shatter somewhere inconvenient."

"Like during a family dinner?"

"Exactly." She grinned briefly, then sobered. "Look, Midoriya, I'm not going to bullshit you. This is going to suck for a while. You're going to have days where you're fine and days where you can't get out of bed. You're going to have moments where the guilt hits you like a truck and moments where you feel nothing at all and that scares you more than the guilt did."

She leaned forward, her topaz eyes intent.

"But you're going to survive it. And Katsuki's going to be there, being aggressively supportive in that emotionally constipated way of his. And the rest of us will have your back too, because that's what family does. We help each other carry the shit that's too heavy to carry alone."

"Family," Izuku repeated softly. "I've been here less than two weeks."

"And you've bled for us. Killed for us. Proven you're willing to do what needs to be done to protect what we're building." Ashido shrugged. "Blood doesn't make family in this world. Choice does. Loyalty does. You chose this life, this family, this path. That makes you one of us."

Before Izuku could respond, his phone buzzed again. This time it was Katsuki:

‘How are you feeling?’

Izuku typed back: ‘Tired. But okay. Ashido's keeping me company.’

‘Good. She's supposed to. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't leave that room.’

‘You already said that in your note.’

‘I'm saying it again. I don't trust you not to do something stupid and self-sacrificing.’

‘That was ONE time.’

‘One time was enough. Stay put.’

Despite everything, Izuku felt warmth bloom in his chest. This was what partnership looked like, apparently. Aggressive protectiveness mixed with genuine concern, wrapped in bossy text messages.

"He's texting you, isn't he?" Ashido asked, reading his expression accurately. "Let me guess.” Ashido cleared her throat and tried to mimic Katsuki's voice. “‘Stay in the room, don't do anything stupid, I'll be there soon.’"

"How did you know?"

"Because I got the same message about you an hour ago. 'Don't let him leave. Don't let him do anything reckless. Make sure he eats something. Report back if he seems like he's spiraling.'" She affected Katsuki's gruff voice with alarming accuracy. "He's being a mother hen. It's actually adorable."

"He'd kill you for calling him adorable."

"He can try." Ashido's grin was unrepentant. "Besides, I'm not wrong. He's been like this since yesterday afternoon. Couldn't focus during training, kept checking his phone, snapped at Ei for suggesting you might want space to process alone."

“Ei?”

“Kirishima Eijirou.”

"Got it. What did Kirishima say?"

"That Katsuki was being overprotective and needed to calm down before he gave himself an aneurysm." She laughed. "Katsuki's response was, and I quote, 'He walked into a warehouse alone and killed someone. I get to be overprotective.'"

Izuku didn't know what to do with that information, with the evidence that Katsuki had been worrying about him, planning around him, adjusting his entire morning to make sure Izuku could sleep undisturbed.

"He really cares," he said quietly.

"Yeah, he does." Ashido's expression softened. "More than I've seen him care about anyone who isn't blood family. You got under his skin, Midoriya. He's in deep."

"So am I."

"I know. Everyone knows." She stood, collecting the empty pastry bag. "Which is why everyone's rooting for you two. Well, almost everyone. Goto's still skeptical, but he respects you now, so that's progress."

A knock at the door, the same pattern as before. Ashido opened it to reveal Katsuki, carrying a tray laden with actual breakfast instead of just pastries.

"Out," he said to Ashido without preamble. "I've got this."

"So bossy," she teased, but moved toward the door anyway. "I'll be outside if you need me. Both of you."

Once she was gone, Katsuki set the tray on his desk and turned to face Izuku fully. His eyes tracked across Izuku's face with laser focus, cataloguing every detail, assessing.

"How are you really?" he asked.

"You already asked that via text."

"I'm asking again. In person. Where you can't hide behind carefully chosen words." Katsuki moved closer, stopping just in front of where Izuku sat on the bed. "How are you?"

Izuku looked up at him, at the concern and fear and want all tangled together in his expression, and decided to be honest.

"I feel hollowed out. Like someone scooped out my insides and left just the shell behind. But I also feel... steady? Like I survived the worst of it and now I just have to learn how to function with this." He paused. "And I feel guilty for feeling okay at all. Like I should be more broken than I am."

"There's no 'should' with this shit," Katsuki said firmly. "Everyone processes differently. Some people fall apart immediately. Some people are fine for weeks and then crash. Some people never really crash, they just integrate it and keep moving. There's no wrong way to survive this."

He sat down beside Izuku on the bed, close enough that their thighs pressed together.

"But I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"If you start spiraling, if it becomes too much, if you need help carrying it, you tell me. You don't try to power through alone. You don't pretend you're fine when you're not. You let me help." Katsuki's hand found his, lacing their fingers together with gentle firmness. "I can't fix this for you. I can't make it hurt less or go away faster. But I can be here. I can remind you that you're not alone. I can help you carry it when it gets too heavy."

"Ashido said you broke down at a family dinner two weeks after your first kill."

Katsuki's jaw tightened. "She told you about that?"

"She was making a point about not bottling things up until I shatter somewhere inconvenient."

"Great. Love having my worst moments used as cautionary tales." But there was no real heat in his voice. "Though she's not wrong. I tried to just... push through. Pretend I was fine. It didn't work. It never works."

He squeezed Izuku's hand.

"So learn from my mistakes. Don't try to be strong all the time. Don't try to prove you can handle this alone. Just... be honest. With me, with yourself, with what you're actually feeling instead of what you think you should feel."

"I can do that," Izuku said. "I think."

"Good enough." Katsuki stood, pulling Izuku up with him. "Now come eat. Real food, not just pastries and coffee. You need fuel."

The breakfast was elaborate. Just rice, miso soup, grilled fish, pickled vegetables, and tamagoyaki. The kind of traditional Japanese breakfast that took time and care to prepare.

"Did you make this?" Izuku asked, surprised.

"No. The kitchen staff refuses to allow me in their kitchen." Katsuki settled into the chair across from him. "The kitchen staff made it. I just specified what I wanted and threatened them if they put too much salt in the fish."

"You threatened the kitchen staff?"

"Gently threatened. There's a difference."

Despite everything, Izuku found himself almost laughing. This was normal. This was relationship dynamics and teasing and the comfortable back-and-forth of two people learning how to exist together.

It felt like a lifeline.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Katsuki spoke again.

"My mother wants to meet with us at ten. Brief you on security protocols moving forward and discuss the Endeavor situation."

Izuku's appetite immediately vanished. "Right. I forgot about the meeting."

"I figured. Yesterday was a lot to deal with. To refresh your memory it's three days from now. Neutral location, full security, completely controlled environment." Katsuki's expression was serious now. "She wants to make sure you're prepared. That you know what to expect and how to handle yourself."

"What if I'm not ready? What if seeing Endeavor again—" Izuku stopped, throat tight.

"Then we postpone. Or I go alone. Or we cancel entirely and send a message that we're not interested in his games." Katsuki leaned forward, his eyes intense. "You're not obligated to do anything you're not ready for, Deku. No one's going to force you into a situation that's going to break you."

"But the alliance—"

"Fuck the alliance." The words came out hard, uncompromising. "You matter more than politics. Your wellbeing matters more than sending messages to rivals. If you're not ready to face Endeavor, we don't do it. End of discussion."

Izuku stared at him, something warm and overwhelming swelling in his chest. "You'd really cancel? Even though it makes you look weak?"

"I'd rather look weak than watch you fall apart because we pushed too hard too fast." Katsuki's voice softened. "You've already proven yourself ten times over. You don't have anything left to prove. Not to me, not to my family, not to anyone in this organization. If you need time, you take time. Anyone who has a problem with that can fight me about it."

"You're being overprotective again."

"Yeah, I am. Get used to it." But Katsuki was almost smiling. "Though for the record, my mother will probably agree with me. She's been overworking everyone trying to find out as much information as she can before the meeting. Maternal instinct, apparently. You've activated her 'guard the baby' programming."

"I'm not a baby."

"You are to her. New to the family, still learning, just experienced his first kill. That's basically a baby in yakuza terms." Katsuki's expression was fond now, teasing. "Kirishima said she threatened Goto with dismemberment if he upset you again. Actual dismemberment, not metaphorical."

"That's... excessive."

"That's my mother. Subtle as a brick, protective as a mama bear, and absolutely terrifying when someone threatens her people." He paused. "And you're her people now. Have been since you burned that notebook, probably. But definitely since yesterday."

Izuku pushed his food around his plate, appetite still absent but feeling obligated to eat something. "This is really happening, isn't it? I'm actually part of this family. This life. No going back."

"No going back," Katsuki confirmed. "But that's not a bad thing. Is it?"

"No," Izuku said slowly, testing the truth of it. "It's terrifying and overwhelming and nothing like what I planned for my life. But it's not bad. It's grounding. It's real."

"Real is better than safe," Katsuki said. "Safe is boring. Safe is suffocating. Real is messy and complicated and sometimes it hurts like hell. But at least you're actually living instead of just existing."

"Is that what you tell yourself? When things get hard?"

"Every damn day." Katsuki's smile was crooked, genuine. "Usually right before I do something stupid and potentially life-threatening."

They finished breakfast with lighter conversation. Katsuki explaining the day's schedule, filling Izuku in on gossip from training that morning, complaining about Kirishima's terrible taste in workout music. Normal things. Relationship things.

Anchors to normalcy in a world that felt anything but.

At 9:45, they made their way to Mitsuki's office, Ashido trailing behind them like a silent shadow. The estate was busy, people moving with purpose, the machine of the organization grinding forward regardless of individual drama.

Mitsuki looked up as they entered, her expression softening fractionally when she saw Izuku.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, and it sounded genuinely concerned rather than perfunctory.

"Better than yesterday. Not great, but functional."

"Good enough." She gestured to chairs. "We have a lot to cover. The investigation into who hired yesterday's assassin, security protocols moving forward, and the Endeavor meeting. Take a seat."

Izuku settled into the chair beside Katsuki, hyperaware of how close they were sitting, how Katsuki's knee pressed against his like a constant reminder that he wasn't alone.

"First, the investigation." Mitsuki pulled up something on her computer. "We cracked the phone. Encrypted, but not well enough. The assassin was hired through an intermediary, paid in cryptocurrency, given photos and basic intel about the alliance. No direct connection to any specific family or organization."

"So we still don't know who's behind this," Katsuki said, his jaw tight.

"Not definitively. But we have suspects." She pulled up a list of names. "The Shinsou family has been increasingly aggressive about territory disputes in the past couple of weeks. The Monoma syndicate has financial incentives to destabilize our alliance. And Endeavor—"

"Has the most to gain from preventing a Bakugo-Midoriya consolidation," Izuku finished. "If we become too powerful together, we become a direct threat to his expansion plans."

"Exactly." Mitsuki looked impressed. "You're learning quickly."

"I had good teachers." Izuku glanced at Katsuki, whose expression had warmed fractionally.

"The meeting with Endeavor is partially about assessing his involvement. If he's behind this, he'll slip up. Show his hand somehow." Mitsuki's eyes were calculating. "But it's also about sending a message. That we're not backing down. That attempts to intimidate or eliminate either of you have only made this alliance stronger."

"And if I'm not ready?" Izuku asked quietly. "If facing him is too much right now?"

Mitsuki studied him for a long moment. "Then we postpone. Your wellbeing matters more than posturing. But Izuku—" she leaned forward, "—I think you are ready. I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. And I think walking into that meeting, looking Endeavor in the eye after everything that's happened, will help you."

"How?"

"Because it's taking control. It's saying 'You tried to break me and I'm still standing.' It's proving to yourself that you survived and you're not going to hide because of it." Her voice was firm but gentle. "But that's my assessment. Only you know if you're actually ready. And if you're not, no one here is going to judge you for it."

Izuku thought about it. About facing Endeavor, the man who might have ordered the hit. The man who saw him as a weakness to exploit or a threat to eliminate. About sitting across from him and not flinching.

"I'll do it," he said. "I'll be there."

Katsuki's hand found his under the table, squeezing hard. Pride and concern mixed together.

"Good," Mitsuki said. "Then let's talk about how we're going to prepare you."

---

The rest of the meeting was tactical planning. What to say, what not to say, how to read Endeavor's tells, what security measures would be in place. By the time they finished, Izuku's head was spinning with information.

"One more thing," Mitsuki said as they stood to leave. "Your father has been trying to contact me. I've been stalling, but he's getting increasingly insistent."

Izuku's stomach dropped. "What does he want?"

"To speak with you. To confirm you're alright. To discuss the alliance moving forward." Her expression was carefully neutral. "I can keep putting him off. Or we can arrange a call. Your choice."

Izuku thought about his father. About the man who'd used him as a bargaining chip, who'd set all of this in motion with his deception. About how he hadn't tried to contact Izuku directly, only going through official channels.

"Let him wait," Izuku said, surprising himself with the coldness in his voice. "He can worry for a while longer. See how it feels to not know if someone you're supposed to care about is alive or dead."

Mitsuki's lips curved into an approving smile. "Vindictive. I like it. I'll continue stalling."

Outside the office, Katsuki pulled Izuku into an empty hallway, his expression intense.

"You okay? That was a lot."

"I'm fine. Just... processing." Izuku leaned back against the wall, suddenly exhausted despite having done nothing physical. "My father doesn't get to pretend he cares now. Not after everything."

"Fair enough." Katsuki moved closer, bracketing Izuku against the wall with his arms but not touching. "But for the record, you're allowed to be angry. You're allowed to want him to suffer a little for what he put you through."

"Is that healthy?"

"Probably not. But it's honest." Katsuki's lips quirked. "And sometimes honest is better than healthy."

They stood there for a moment, the air between them charged with everything unspoken.

"Kacchan?" Izuku said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being here. For letting me fall apart and helping me put myself back together. For giving a shit when you didn't have to."

"I didn't have a choice," Katsuki said, his voice rough. "You got under my skin. Made me care when I wasn't supposed to. Now I'm stuck."

"Stuck doesn't sound so bad."

"It's not." Katsuki leaned in slowly, giving Izuku time to move away if he wanted. "It's actually pretty fucking perfect."

The kiss was gentle. A promise and a question all at once. When they pulled apart, Izuku felt steadier. Grounded. Alive. 

"Three days until Endeavor," he said.

"Three days to prepare. To get your head right. To be ready." Katsuki's hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. "And I'll be right there with you. Every step."

"Partners."

"Partners," Katsuki confirmed. "Now come on. We've got work to do."

"Okay, so what's first?"

Katsuki's expression shifted, something between serious and mischievous crossing his face. "First, we introduce you to Kayama."

"Who's Kayama?"

"Best irezumi artist in Tokyo. Loyal to the family for twenty years. Discreet." Katsuki's hand found the small of Izuku's back, guiding him down the hallway. "She's going to design your first tattoo."

Izuku stopped walking, the words taking a moment to fully register. "My what!?"

Chapter Text

The walk to Kayama's studio felt longer than it should have. Maybe because Izuku's mind was still catching up with what Katsuki had just dropped on him like it was the most casual thing in the world.

A tattoo. His first tattoo. In a world where ink told stories, declared allegiances, marked you as someone who belonged.

"You're overthinking," Katsuki said without looking at him, his hand still warm against the small of Izuku's back as they navigated through a part of the estate Izuku hadn't seen before. Older, quieter, where the architecture leaned more traditional.

"I'm not overthinking. I'm appropriately thinking about permanently marking my body."

"It's not just marking your body. It's—" Katsuki paused, searching for words. "It's claiming your place here. Making it visible."

They stopped at a door that looked like it belonged in a traditional tea house rather than a yakuza estate. Katsuki knocked twice, then once more after a pause.

"Enter," came a woman's voice from inside, low and amused like she'd been expecting them.

The room beyond was part art studio, part shrine to the craft of irezumi. Sketches covered every wall. From dragons and koi, to phoenixes and tigers. Even demons and deities rendered in exquisite detail. The scent of incense mixed with antiseptic, traditional meeting modern in a way that shouldn't have worked but did.

And seated at a low table, reviewing what looked like design mockups with a critical eye, was a woman who could only be Kayama Nemuri.

She was striking in a way that had nothing to do with conventional beauty and everything to do with presence. Late thirties, maybe early forties, with dark hair that fell down past her waist and sharp eyes that assessed Izuku with the same intensity she'd probably use to evaluate a canvas. Her own arms were covered in intricate work. Cherry blossoms and flowing water, beautifully rendered in traditional style.

"So," she said, setting down her brush and giving Izuku her full attention. "This is the Midoriya heir everyone's been talking about."

"Kayama-san," Katsuki said, inclining his head respectfully. "This is—"

"I know who he is." She stood, moving around the table with fluid grace. "The question is, does he know why he's here? Or did you just drag him here without explaining?"

"I explained," Katsuki protested.

"You said 'we're getting you a tattoo.' That's not explaining, that's dictating." Kayama's lips curved, not quite smiling but close. "Did he agree to this? Or is this another one of your 'I know what's best' decisions?"

Katsuki had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. "I—it's tradition—"

"Tradition requires consent, Bakugo-kun." She turned her full attention to Izuku, and he felt pinned by that gaze. "So. Midoriya Izuku. Do you want to be here? Do you want ink? Or did this overgrown guard dog just assume?"

Despite everything, Izuku found himself smiling.

"I want to be here," he said. "But I'd like to understand what this means. What I'm choosing, not just that I'm choosing it."

"Good answer." Kayama gestured to cushions near her workspace. "Sit. Both of you. And Bakugo-kun, try to remember that this is his body and his choice."

They settled onto the cushions, and Kayama poured tea with the same precision she probably used for her art. Izuku accepted the cup gratefully, the warmth grounding him.

"Irezumi," Kayama began, "is not just decoration. It's not fashion or rebellion or shock value. It's a story. History. Identity made visible." She sipped her own tea, her eyes never leaving Izuku's face. "In the yakuza world, your ink tells people who you are, where you come from, what you've survived. It's armor and declaration all at once."

"And for someone new to the family?" Izuku asked.

"For someone new, it's a statement. 'I'm here. I belong. I've chosen this.' It marks the transition from outsider to insider. From civilian to... something else." She set down her cup. "The first tattoo is the most important. It sets the foundation for everything that comes after. So we don't rush it. We don't just slap on a koi fish because it looks cool. We think about who you are and who you're becoming."

Izuku's hands wrapped around his teacup, absorbing the warmth. "What if I don't know who I'm becoming yet?"

"Then we design something that grows with you. Something that's true now and will still be true in ten years." Kayama stood abruptly, her expression shifting to something more authoritative. "But first—" she turned to Katsuki with an expression that brooked no argument, "—out."

"What?" Katsuki blinked, clearly not expecting that.

"Out. This is between me and Midoriya-kun now. Client and artist. Now leave us to work."

"But—"

"Bakugo Katsuki." Kayama's voice carried absolute authority despite the lack of volume. "I've been doing this for twenty years. I've inked your mother, your father, you when you were barely eighteen and thought you knew everything. I know how to handle a first tattoo, and I know that you hovering like an overprotective guard dog is not helpful. So. Out."

Katsuki looked at Izuku, clearly torn between obeying and his obvious desire to stay, to be present, to make sure Izuku was okay.

"I'll be fine," Izuku said, meaning it. "Go. Do whatever you need to do. I'll come find you when we're done."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Kayama-san is right. This is between her and me now."

Katsuki stood reluctantly, his hand finding Izuku's shoulder and squeezing once before he left. "If you need me—"

"I'll call."

"Promise."

"Promise."

The door closed behind him, and the room suddenly felt larger, quieter. More intimate in a different way than when Katsuki had been there.

Kayama poured them both a fresh cup. "Good. Now we can actually talk."

"About the design?"

"About everything." She settled back onto her cushion, her eyes sharp and assessing. "I've been working on ideas since Mitsuki-sama told me you'd be coming. Want to see?"

"You've been working on designs for me? Before you even met me?"

"I know your story. Or the broad strokes of it." She pulled out a sketchbook, flipping through pages covered in preliminary designs. "Civilian heir to a corporate empire, thrown into an arranged marriage with the Bakugo family, survived his first kill within two weeks of arriving. That's more than enough to work with."

She found the page she was looking for and turned the sketchbook toward him.

The design on the page made Izuku's breath catch.

A dragon, rendered in green ink instead of the traditional black or red. Not coiled or aggressive, but ascending, head tilted upward, body flowing with dynamic movement, claws reaching toward something beyond the frame. Storm clouds swirled around it, suggesting motion and chaos. Plum blossoms scattered near the tail, delicate against the dragon's power. And at the base, waves rendered in the traditional Japanese style, providing foundation and flow.

"It's beautiful," Izuku said quietly, tracing the design with his eyes.

"It's you," Kayama corrected. "Or it could be, if you want it to be." She pointed to different elements. "The green dragon represents new beginnings, growth, wisdom. The East, which in traditional symbolism is about spring and renewal. You're literally starting a new life, so it fits."

Her finger moved to the storm clouds. "The chaos you're navigating. The upheaval. But also the power that comes from surviving the storm instead of avoiding it."

Then to the plum blossoms. "These bloom in winter, in the harshest conditions. They represent resilience, hope, enduring through hardship. Renewal after trauma."

Finally, the waves. "The foundation. Life's ups and downs. Adaptability. The constant motion of existence."

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "The dragon is ascending because you're moving forward. Rising to meet challenges instead of being crushed by them. Not looking back at who you were, but embracing who you're becoming."

Izuku stared at the design, something tight and overwhelming building in his chest. This wasn't just a tattoo. This was his story, the fear and the choice and the transformation, rendered in ink and symbolism.

"Where?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Back piece. Starting between the shoulder blades, dragon ascending toward your right shoulder." Kayama pulled out another sketch showing the placement. "It'll take multiple sessions. This isn't something we rush. But when it's finished, it'll be a full back piece. Visible when you want it to be, hidden when you don't."

"I want it," Izuku said. "When can we start?"

Kayama's smile was sharp and satisfied. "Now, if you're ready. But before I put permanent ink on your body, I need to know you understand what you're agreeing to. Not just the tattoo, but everything it represents."

"I—" Izuku paused, considering. "I think I understand. It's claiming my place here. Making visible that I've chosen this life."

"It's more than that." Kayama's voice was serious now, the teasing edge completely gone. "Once you have yakuza ink, especially visible ink like a back piece, you're marked. Forever. You can leave the life. Some people do, though it's rare, but you can't leave the ink behind. It's a permanent declaration that you were here, that you were part of this world."

She leaned forward slightly.

"Employment becomes harder. Some onsen won't let you in. People will make assumptions about you, about your past, about who you are. The ink is beautiful, yes. Meaningful, absolutely. But it's also a barrier between you and the civilian world you came from."

"I'm not going back to that world," Izuku said, the certainty in his voice surprising even himself. "I killed someone two days ago. I'm engaged to the Bakugo heir. I've chosen this family, this life. Even if everything fell apart tomorrow, even if the marriage didn't happen, I couldn't go back to being who I was before."

"You say that now—"

"I mean it." Izuku set down his teacup, meeting her eyes. "I've spent my whole life being who my father wanted me to be. Safe, controlled, optimized for corporate success. And I was suffocating. This… this is terrifying and overwhelming and nothing like what I planned. But it's real. It's mine. It's a choice I'm making instead of a path someone else laid out for me."

Kayama studied him for a long moment. Then she smiled, genuine and warm.

"Good. Because I don't want to ink someone who's going to regret it in six months. I want to ink someone who understands the weight of what they're choosing and chooses it anyway." She pulled the sketchbook closer. "So. Let's refine this design. Make it perfect. Because you only get one first tattoo, Midoriya Izuku. We're going to make sure it's worth remembering."

---

They spent the next two hours working through details. The exact shade of green for the dragon's scales, not too bright, not too dark, something that would look vibrant now but age well over decades. The flow of the storm clouds, how they'd interact with the natural contours of Izuku's back. The placement of each plum blossom, ensuring they enhanced rather than distracted from the dragon's movement.

Kayama sketched and erased and sketched again, occasionally asking Izuku to remove his shirt so she could see how the design would actually sit on his body. Her hands were professional, clinical, but there was reverence in the way she touched the space between his shoulder blades, mapping out where the dragon's head would emerge.

"Your canvas is good," she said, almost to herself. "Clean. No scars yet." A pause. "Though that'll change, I imagine. This life leaves marks, visible and invisible."

"I already have marks," Izuku said quietly. "Just not physical ones yet."

"The ones inside are often deeper." Kayama's hands stilled on his back. "The ones that don't show on skin but change how you see the world, how you see yourself."

"Is that why you do this? The tattoos? To make the invisible visible?"

"Partly." She moved back to her sketching, adding details with practiced precision. "But also because there's power in choosing your scars. In taking the pain and the story and transforming it into something beautiful. Something you control instead of something that controls you."

Izuku thought about that as she worked. About control and choice and transformation. About the man he'd killed and the weight that wouldn't leave and the way Katsuki's hands felt grounding him when everything else threatened to spiral.

"The first session will be outline work," Kayama said, pulling him from his thoughts. "Four to five hours, probably. We'll get the basic structure down. The dragon's form, the major elements of the composition. Subsequent sessions will add shading, color, detail. Full completion will take six to eight sessions over several months."

"That long?"

"Good work takes time. And your back is a large canvas." She turned the sketchbook toward him, showing the refined design. "But when it's finished, it'll be a masterpiece. I promise you that."

The design was even more beautiful than the first sketch. The dragon practically moved on the page, its ascent dynamic and powerful. The storm clouds swirled with purpose, suggesting motion without overwhelming. The plum blossoms were perfectly placed, adding softness and hope to the strength of the dragon and waves.

"It's perfect," Izuku breathed.

"It will be." Kayama's smile was satisfied, professional pride evident. "Now. Pain tolerance. Have you ever been tattooed before?"

"No."

"Then this is going to hurt. Not unbearably, but it's not comfortable either. Some areas are worse than others. Spine, ribs, shoulder blades. We'll take breaks as needed. If at any point you need to stop, you tell me. No shame in that. Everyone has limits."

"I can handle it," Izuku said, perhaps too quickly.

Kayama's look was knowing. "You killed someone two days ago and you're still functioning. I believe you can handle physical pain. But there's a difference between handling something and pushing yourself until you break. Don't be a hero about this. It's a marathon, not a sprint."

"Noted."

"Good." She stood, moving to her equipment. "We'll start today with the outline. Get you acclimated to the process, to the sensation, to how your body responds. If you handle it well, we'll do a full session. If it's too much, we stop and schedule the rest for later. No judgment either way."

Izuku removed his shirt completely, the studio's air cool against his skin. Kayama directed him to a padded table, positioning him face-down with his arms at his sides.

"Comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be lying on my stomach waiting to have my back permanently marked."

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Fair enough. Alright. I'm going to prep the area first, then we'll start with a stencil to make sure the placement is exactly right. Once that's set, I'll begin the outline. You ready?"

"I'm ready."

The first touch of the tattoo machine was shocking. A sharp, burning sensation that made every muscle in his back tense reflexively. But Kayama's other hand was steady on his shoulder, grounding.

"Breathe," she said calmly. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Find a rhythm. Your body will adjust."

Izuku focused on breathing. On the steady buzz of the machine. On the strange sensation of needle meeting skin, pain and pressure and something almost meditative about it.

"Good," Kayama murmured. "You're doing good. Now just stay relaxed. Let me work."

Time became strange after that. The pain didn't lessen exactly, but it became part of the background. Constant but manageable. His mind drifted, thinking about the past two weeks. About walking into the Bakugo estate terrified and desperate. About training with Katsuki every morning, learning to defend himself. About burning his notebook and facing Goto and pulling a trigger and surviving all of it.

About becoming someone new. Someone harder, yes. Someone with blood on his conscience and weight in his chest. But also someone stronger. Someone who made choices instead of having choices made for him.

The dragon taking shape on his back felt like a promise. Like proof that he could survive the transformation and come out the other side still whole. Changed, yes. Scarred, definitely. But whole.

"Break," Kayama said, the machine falling silent. "Fifteen minutes. Drink some water. Walk around if you need to. We're about halfway through the outline."

Izuku sat up carefully, his back protesting the movement. Kayama handed him a mirror, angling it so he could see the progress.

The outline was striking, even incomplete. The dragon's head and upper body were defined, powerful lines showing the ascent. Storm clouds swirled around it, suggesting motion and chaos. Even without color or shading, it was beautiful.

"It's incredible," Izuku said, his voice rough.

"It will be," Kayama corrected, but she was smiling. "You're handling this remarkably well for your first time. Most people are squirming by now. You've barely moved."

"I've had practice sitting still through uncomfortable things recently."

"I imagine you have." She handed him water. "Drink. Hydrate. We've got another two hours at least to finish the outline."

By the time they finished, Izuku felt wrung out in a strange, satisfied way. His back burned, the skin angry and tender, but seeing the completed outline in the mirror made it worth it.

The dragon ascended from between his shoulder blades, head tilted toward his right shoulder as if reaching for something beyond sight. Storm clouds swirled around its body. Plum blossoms scattered near its tail. Waves provided foundation at the base.

It was his story, rendered in permanent ink. Proof that he'd survived and chosen and transformed.

"Beautiful work," came Katsuki's voice from the doorway, and Izuku turned to find him leaning against the frame, eyes tracking the new ink with obvious appreciation. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough. Kayama texted me when you were almost done." He moved closer, his gaze still fixed on the outline. "Can I?"

Izuku nodded, and Katsuki's fingers traced the air just above the lines, not quite touching the tender skin but close enough that Izuku could feel the heat of his hand.

"It's perfect," Katsuki said quietly. "Everything about it. The design, the placement, the meaning. It's exactly right."

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Bakugo-kun," Kayama said, cleaning her equipment. "But yes, I agree. It's some of my best work. And it's only the outline. Wait until we add color and shading."

She turned to Izuku. "Aftercare instructions. Listen carefully because I'm only explaining this once, and if you screw it up, it's your own fault when the ink heals wrong."

For the next ten minutes, she walked him through exactly how to care for the new tattoo. Cleaning schedule, moisturizer, what to avoid, warning signs of infection, when to schedule the next session.

"Any questions?"

"How long until the next session?"

"Three weeks minimum. Gives it time to heal completely. We'll do the first round of shading then, start building depth and dimension." She handed him a care package with supplies. "And Midoriya-kun? You did well today. Really well. Not just enduring the pain, but understanding what the ink means. Respecting the process."

"Thank you," Izuku said, meaning it. "For everything. The design, the work, the conversation."

"It's what I do." But she was smiling, pleased with both her work and her canvas. "Now get out of here. Let that heal. And don't let this one—" she gestured at Katsuki, "—convince you to do anything stupid before our next session."

"I'll try."

"That's all I ask."

---

Outside, the late afternoon sun was gentler than the bright morning light had been. Izuku moved carefully, hyperaware of his back, of the tender skin and fresh ink.

"How does it feel?" Katsuki asked as they walked.

"Like I've been repeatedly stabbed with tiny needles for four hours."

"So, accurate then."

Despite the discomfort, Izuku found himself almost laughing. "Yeah. But also... good? Like I've made the choice visible."

"You have." Katsuki's hand found his, lacing their fingers together with casual intimacy. "And everyone who sees it will know you've chosen this life. That you're not just here because of politics or your father's mistakes. You're here because you want to be."

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment before Katsuki spoke again.

"You know what today is?"

Izuku thought about it. The meeting with Kayama had taken most of the day. "The day I got my first tattoo?"

"Two weeks," Katsuki said. "Exactly two weeks since you walked into that first meeting terrified and determined. Since this whole thing started."

Two weeks. It felt simultaneously like forever and no time at all. So much had changed, he'd changed, in such a short span.

"Feels longer," Izuku admitted.

"Yeah. It does." Katsuki stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "In two weeks, you've survived my mother's interrogation, earned Goto's respect, killed someone, got your first tattoo, and somehow made me fall completely in love with you. That's... a lot."

The last part registered slowly, like Izuku's brain couldn't quite process it. "What?"

"I'm in love with you." Katsuki said it matter-of-factly, like he was commenting on the weather rather than dropping something enormous into the space between them. "Have been for a while, actually. But I figured I should probably say it out loud at some point. Make it real."

Izuku's heart was doing something complicated in his chest. Racing and stopping and maybe attempting to escape entirely. "You—I—"

"Eloquent," Katsuki teased, but his eyes were warm. "Take your time. I'm not expecting you to say it back right now. I just wanted you to know. Wanted it to be real instead of just implied."

"I told you I was falling in love with you," Izuku managed. "That night with the drums. Before I ran away like an idiot."

"I remember. But that was 'falling in love.' Past tense. Hypothetical." Katsuki stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup Izuku's jaw. "I'm saying I'm in love with you. Present tense. Definitive. No hypothetical about it."

"I—" Izuku swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight with emotion that had nothing to do with pain or trauma and everything to do with this. "I'm in love with you too. Present tense. Definitely."

Katsuki's smile was brilliant, transformative. Then he was kissing Izuku, soft and careful and perfect, mindful of his tender back but still claiming and wanting.

When they pulled apart, Izuku was breathless and dizzy and more grounded than he'd felt in days.

"Two weeks," he said again, the words feeling significant now. "Everything changed in two weeks."

"Everything's going to keep changing," Katsuki said. "But at least now we're changing together."

"Together," Izuku echoed, and it felt like a promise. Like the ascending dragon on his back and the plum blossoms blooming in impossible conditions and the choice to move forward instead of staying frozen in fear.

They walked back to the main house hand in hand, Izuku's back burning but his heart full. Tomorrow would bring the Endeavor meeting, more challenges, more tests. But today he had chosen his ink and declared his place and admitted love without reservation.

Today, he'd taken another step toward becoming someone new. Someone strong enough to survive this world. Someone worthy of the life he was building.

And when they reached Katsuki's room, when Katsuki helped him carefully remove his shirt and applied the healing ointment with gentle precision, when they lay together in comfortable silence with Katsuki's hand tracing patterns on his arm.

Izuku felt like he was going to be okay.

The dragon on his back was still ascending.

So was he.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke to fire across his shoulders.

For a disorienting moment, he couldn't place the source of the pain. Then his memory caught up. The tattoo, hours under Kayama's needle, the ascending dragon now permanently etched into his skin.

He shifted carefully, trying to find a position that didn't pull at the tender flesh. Katsuki's arm tightened around his waist, drawing him back against his chest with careful precision that avoided putting too much pressure on the new ink.

"Morning," Katsuki's voice rumbled against his ear, rough with sleep. "How's the back?"

"Feels like I got stabbed repeatedly. Oh wait, I did."

"Technically accurate." Katsuki's breath was warm against his neck. "You need to clean it and apply more ointment. Kayama will kill me if you fuck up her work because you were too stubborn to follow aftercare."

"I followed her instructions last night."

"That was twelve hours ago. You need to do it again." Katsuki shifted, pressing a kiss to Izuku's shoulder, carefully avoiding the fresh ink. "Come on. Let's get you taken care of."

They moved through the morning routine with practiced ease that felt strange given they'd only been doing this for a few days. Katsuki helped Izuku clean the tattoo with gentle efficiency, his touches clinical but his eyes warm.

"It's beautiful," he said quietly, studying the outline. "Even without the color and shading. You can see what it's going to be."

"An ascending dragon," Izuku murmured, watching Katsuki's reflection as he carefully applied the healing ointment. "Moving forward instead of looking back."

"Exactly." Katsuki's hands stilled on his shoulders, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "How are you feeling? Really?"

"About the tattoo? Or about everything else?"

"Both. All of it."

Izuku considered the question honestly. His back hurt. His conscience still carried weight. The memory of pulling that trigger wouldn't fade. But underneath all of that...

"Better than yesterday. More solid." He turned to face Katsuki properly. "The tattoo helps. Makes it feel real. Like I've actually chosen this instead of just going along with my father's decision."

"Good." Katsuki's hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing across his cheekbone in that familiar grounding gesture. "Because today's going to be complicated."

"The Endeavor meeting is in two days. What's complicated about today?"

"Today we start actually preparing for it. Strategy sessions with my mother. Intel briefings. Maybe some light sparring to make sure you remember your defensive training." Katsuki's expression was serious now. "And your father called the main line this morning. Three times. He's getting more insistent about speaking with you."

Izuku's stomach tightened. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. I didn't take the calls. But my mother did, the third time. She told him you were unavailable but safe, and that she'd pass along his message." Katsuki paused. "He's threatening to come here in person if he doesn't hear from you soon."

"Let him." The words came out harder than Izuku intended. "Let him make the trip. Let him sit in a waiting room while we decide whether he's worth our time."

Katsuki's lips quirked into an approving smile. "Vindictive looks good on you."

"I learned from the best."

"Damn right you did." Katsuki pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before stepping back. "Get dressed. Comfortable clothes, nothing that'll irritate the tattoo. We've got breakfast with the family in twenty minutes, then straight to planning."

---

The dining hall was already full when they arrived, the morning energy different from previous days. More focused. Business-like. People ate efficiently, conversations muted and purposeful.

Kirishima waved them over enthusiastically, grin bright despite the early hour. "Dude! I heard you got inked yesterday. Can we see?"

"After breakfast," Katsuki said before Izuku could respond, guiding him to their seats with a proprietary hand on his lower back. "And no, you can't touch it. It's still healing."

"I wasn't going to touch it! I just want to see Kayama's work. She's incredible." Kirishima's enthusiasm was infectious. "What design did you go with?"

"Ascending dragon," Izuku said, settling carefully into his chair. "Green ink. Storm clouds, plum blossoms, waves."

"Symbolic," Kaminari said from across the table, his usual playfulness tempered with genuine interest. "The green dragon's about new beginnings, right? Growth and transformation?"

"Something like that." Izuku accepted the tea Ashido poured for him with a grateful nod.

"It's perfect for him," Katsuki said, his tone brooking no argument. "Kayama outdid herself."

"She always does." Ashido's smile was knowing. "Though I'm surprised you let him get a back piece for his first tattoo. Most people start smaller. Test the waters."

"Most people aren't Deku." Katsuki's hand found Izuku's under the table, squeezing once. "He doesn't do anything halfway."

"Truth," Kirishima agreed. "Two weeks in and he's already more integrated than some people who've been here for years. It's actually impressive."

"Or concerning," Kaminari added, though his tone was teasing rather than critical. "Like, most people take at least a month before they're comfortable enough to challenge Goto or walk into assassin meetings or get permanent yakuza ink."

"Most people aren't trying to prove they belong," Sero said quietly from Kirishima's other side. He'd been silent until now, just observing. "Midoriya's still in the 'show everyone I'm serious' phase. The tattoo makes sense in that context."

All eyes turned to Izuku, assessing. Not hostile, but curious. Waiting to see how he'd respond to the observation.

"Maybe," Izuku admitted. "But it's also just... wanting to make it real. To have proof that I chose this, that it's not just something happening to me." He met Sero's eyes. "Is that the wrong reason?"

"No such thing as wrong reasons for ink. Just different motivations." Sero's expression was thoughtful. "Though you should know, eventually the 'proving yourself' phase ends. You stop worrying about whether you belong and just... exist. That's when the ink becomes less about declaration and more about story."

"How long did it take you?" Izuku asked. "To stop proving yourself?"

"Six months. But I wasn't marrying the heir, so the pressure was different." Sero's smile was slight but genuine. "You'll probably get there faster. You're impatient."

"I prefer 'efficiently motivated,'" Izuku said dryly, and the table laughed.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics—Kaminari's terrible attempts at cooking, Kirishima's ongoing argument with another family member about proper workout form, Ashido's latest security protocol suggestions that Mitsuki kept shooting down.

Normal. Comfortable. The easy banter of people who knew each other well and were making space for someone new.

Izuku felt himself relaxing despite the burn across his shoulders, despite knowing the day ahead would be intense preparation for facing Endeavor.

This was belonging. Not the dramatic declarations or the tests or the tattoo, though those mattered. But this—breakfast conversation and teasing and the casual acceptance of his presence at the table.

"—isn't that right, Deku?"

Izuku blinked, realizing he'd completely missed whatever Katsuki had just said. "Sorry, what?"

"I said you're going to show them the outline after breakfast. Since they won't shut up about it." Katsuki's tone was exasperated but fond. "Five minutes. Then we have work to do."

"I can live with that."

"Good. Because if I have to listen to Kirishima whine about not getting to see Kayama's work for one more minute, I'm going to lose my mind."

"Hey! I don't whine!" Kirishima protested.

"You absolutely whine," Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero said in unison, then looked at each other and burst out laughing.

---

After breakfast, Izuku found himself in an empty training room with his small audience of Katsuki's inner circle. He pulled off his shirt carefully, turning to show them the outline.

The reaction was immediate and gratifying.

"Holy shit," Kirishima breathed. "That's incredible. Like, actually incredible."

"The composition," Kaminari said, moving closer but keeping his hands to himself. "The way it flows with your spine, uses the shoulder blades... Kayama's a genius."

"It's going to be stunning when it's finished," Ashido agreed. "The outline alone is beautiful. With color and shading? Masterpiece."

Even Sero, who'd been more reserved, looked impressed. "You chose well. The symbolism's solid, the design's strong. You'll carry that for the rest of your life without regret."

"That's the plan," Izuku said, pulling his shirt back on with careful movements. "Though right now I'm more focused on surviving the next few days."

"The Endeavor meeting." Kirishima's expression sobered. "That's going to be intense."

"Which is why we need to get to planning," Katsuki said, already moving toward the door. "Come on, Deku. My mother's waiting."

They left the others behind, walking through the estate's corridors with purpose. But instead of heading toward Mitsuki's office, Katsuki guided them to a different wing entirely.

"Where are we going?"

"War room." Katsuki's voice was clipped, focused. "We don't do major strategic planning in mom's regular office. Too exposed, too many people coming and going. War room's secure, soundproofed, limited access."

They stopped at a door that required both a biometric scan and keycode. Inside was something that looked like it belonged in a military command center rather than a yakuza estate.

A large table dominated the center, currently covered in papers, photographs, and what looked like surveillance stills. Multiple screens lined one wall, displaying various data streams. And standing around the table, already deep in discussion, were Mitsuki, Masaru, and three people Izuku didn't recognize.

"Good, you're here." Mitsuki looked up as they entered, gesturing them forward. "Izuku, these are our intelligence analysts. Yaoyorozu Momo, Iida Tenya, and Todoroki Shouto."

Izuku's attention immediately locked on the last name. Todoroki. As in Endeavor's son. As in the heir to the family they were about to meet with.

The young man in question was striking—split-toned hair, white on the right and red on the left, heterochromatic eyes that assessed Izuku with cool calculation. He was probably around Izuku's age, dressed in sharp business casual that somehow made him look even more intimidating.

"Midoriya-san." Todoroki's voice was carefully neutral. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I'm sure you have." Izuku moved to the table, hyperaware of Katsuki's solid presence at his side. "Should I be concerned that Endeavor's heir is in the Bakugo war room?"

"Shouto's loyalties are his own," Mitsuki said firmly. "He works with us on intelligence matters. Has for three years. His father doesn't know, and we'd all like to keep it that way."

"I have no love for my father," Todoroki said flatly. "Or his methods. Or his goals. Working with the Bakugo family is my choice, made independently of his influence."

The emphasis on 'choice' wasn't lost on Izuku. This was someone else who'd chosen his path despite expectations, despite blood ties, despite the easier option of falling in line with family expectations.

"Fair enough." Izuku extended his hand. "Then I'm glad to meet you. And grateful for any intelligence you can provide."

Todoroki's handshake was firm, brief. "The feeling is mutual. Anyone who makes my father nervous is worth knowing."

"I make him nervous?"

"You're an unknown variable in a situation he thought he'd mapped completely. That's my father's worst nightmare—factors he can't control or predict." Todoroki's lips curved in something that might have been a smile if it had contained any warmth. "He's been making inquiries. Trying to find leverage. Coming up empty, which is making him increasingly paranoid."

"Good," Katsuki said with satisfaction. "Let him be paranoid. Keeps him off balance."

"Can we focus?" The young woman, Yaoyorozu, spoke for the first time. She was elegant in a way that suggested old money and careful breeding, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. "We have less than forty-eight hours until this meeting. We need to be prepared for every contingency."

"Agreed." Mitsuki gestured to the table. "Sit. All of you. Let's go through what we know."

They settled around the table, and Izuku found himself between Katsuki and Todoroki, staring at a collection of surveillance photos that showed Endeavor in various locations around Tokyo.

"First," Mitsuki began, "the assassination attempt. We've traced the payment back through three shell corporations, but the trail goes cold at a cryptocurrency exchange in Singapore. Professional work. Expensive work. Not the kind of thing small-time players can afford."

"Which narrows it to three possibilities," Iida said, adjusting his glasses with precise movements. "Endeavor, the Shinsou family, or the Monoma syndicate. All have both motive and resources."

"The Shinsou family has been aggressive lately," Yaoyorozu added, pulling up data on one of the screens. "Territory disputes, pushing boundaries, testing responses. But their style is usually more direct. This level of subterfuge doesn't match their historical patterns."

"The Monoma syndicate has financial incentive," Todoroki said, his voice analytical and detached. "A Bakugo-Midoriya alliance strengthens both families' positions considerably. That makes them harder to challenge, harder to undermine. Monoma benefits if this alliance fails."

"But?" Mitsuki prompted.

"But Monoma Neito is too proud to hide behind intermediaries. If he wanted to sabotage this alliance, he'd make sure you knew it was him. Take credit. Make it part of his legend." Todoroki's expression was thoughtful. "This attempt was too quiet. Too careful. That's not his style."

"Which brings us back to Endeavor," Katsuki said, his voice hard.

"Not necessarily." Todoroki met his eyes. "My father absolutely has a motive. He's been trying to consolidate power for years, and this alliance is a direct threat to those plans. But he's also extremely risk-averse when it comes to direct action. He prefers political maneuvering, economic pressure, and strategic marriages."

"He came here making threats," Izuku pointed out. "That seems pretty direct."

"He came here making overtures wrapped in threats. There's a difference." Todoroki pulled up another photo, this one showing Endeavor meeting with someone Izuku didn't recognize. "My father plays a long game. Assassination is messy, unpredictable, and creates enemies. He'd rather undermine the alliance through other means."

"Unless he's getting desperate," Mitsuki said quietly. "Unless he sees this alliance as existential threat enough that his usual caution doesn't apply."

The room fell silent, everyone considering that possibility.

"We won't know for certain until the meeting," Masaru said, speaking for the first time. "But we need to prepare for all scenarios. If Endeavor is behind the attempt, he'll show his hand somehow. People always do when they think they're winning."

"And if he's not?" Izuku asked.

"Then we have a different problem. Someone else is trying to destabilize this alliance, and we need to figure out who before they try again." Mitsuki's expression was grim. "Because they will try again. Izuku's still a target. This family is still a target. Until we identify the threat, we're vulnerable."

"So what's the plan for the meeting?" Katsuki asked, his hand finding Izuku's under the table, grounding.

"Information gathering," Yaoyorozu said. "We go in with questions, probe for reactions, watch for tells. Endeavor's good at controlling his expressions, but he's not perfect. Especially when he's caught off guard."

"Which is where I come in," Izuku said, understanding dawning. "I'm the wildcard. The unknown factor. If I ask the right questions, push the right buttons..."

"He might slip," Todoroki finished. "Show us something he didn't intend to reveal."

"Exactly." Mitsuki's smile was sharp. "We're not going into this meeting to negotiate or make deals. We're going to assess. To gather intelligence. To see if Endeavor gives us anything we can use."

"And if he does?" Izuku asked.

"Then we'll know our enemy. And we can plan accordingly." Her expression was absolutely fierce. "But either way, we walk out of that restaurant together, stronger than we walked in. United. Unshakeable. That's the message we need to send."

For the next three hours, they went through scenario planning. What questions to ask, what topics to avoid, how to read Endeavor's body language and verbal patterns. Todoroki provided invaluable insight into his father's tells, the subtle signs that he was lying or uncomfortable or planning something.

"He touches his scar when he's about to lie," Todoroki said, demonstrating the gesture. "Left side of his face. Just a brief touch, like he's checking that it's still there. Most people don't notice it. I've spent twenty-three years watching him closely enough to catch it."

"What else?" Katsuki asked, taking notes with fierce concentration.

"He leans back when he's confident in his position. Leans forward when he's trying to intimidate or assert dominance. Folds his hands on the table when he's negotiating. Keeps them in his lap when he's hiding something." Todoroki's voice was clinical, analytical, completely devoid of emotion. "He drinks water before answering difficult questions. Buys himself time to formulate a response. And he never admits weakness, even when it would be strategically advantageous. His pride won't allow it."

Izuku absorbed every detail, his mind cataloguing and organizing. This was what he was good at, pattern recognition, information synthesis, seeing connections others missed.

"The key," Masaru said, "is to not let him control the conversation. Endeavor's used to dominating rooms through sheer presence. We need to disrupt that expectation. Keep him reactive instead of proactive."

"How?" Izuku asked.

"By you asking questions he doesn't expect from someone in your position. By Katsuki being protective in ways that signal strength rather than weakness. By Mitsuki and I presenting a united front that he can't drive a wedge between." Masaru's expression was thoughtful. "We make him work for every inch of ground. Make him uncomfortable. Off balance."

"And then we watch him squirm," Katsuki said with satisfaction.

They broke for lunch, but the planning continued over food. Yaoyorozu walked Izuku through proper formal dining etiquette for high-stakes yakuza meetings. Iida explained the security protocols that would be in place. Todoroki provided additional context about the restaurant itself, its significance in neutral meeting spaces, and the history of negotiations that had happened there.

By the time afternoon arrived, Izuku's head was spinning with information. But he also felt prepared. Equipped. Ready to face Endeavor not as a terrified civilian but as someone who understood the game being played.

"One more thing," Mitsuki said as the meeting wound down. "Your father."

Izuku tensed. "What about him?"

"He's threatening to show up at the estate tomorrow if he doesn't hear from you today. I've managed to put him off this long, but he's getting aggressive. Pulling rank, making threats about going to the authorities, claiming we're holding you hostage." Her expression was carefully neutral. "I need to know how you want to handle this."

"Let him come," Izuku said, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice. "Tomorrow afternoon. Formal meeting, supervised, in your office. He gets thirty minutes. That's it."

"You're sure? After everything he's done—"

"I'm sure." Izuku met her eyes. "He doesn't get to dictate terms anymore. He doesn't get to show up demanding answers and expect me to fall in line. He gets a scheduled meeting at our convenience, on our territory, with witnesses. That's the new relationship."

Mitsuki's smile was absolutely predatory. "I'll make the arrangements. Two PM tomorrow. He'll be searched at the gate, escorted to my office, and he doesn't leave your sight until he's off the property."

"Perfect."

"You're learning," Katsuki murmured as they finally left the war room, heading back toward more comfortable spaces. "Power dynamics. How to control situations instead of being controlled by them."

"I had good teachers." Izuku's back was screaming by now, the burn of the tattoo intensified by sitting still for hours. "Though right now I really need to lie down before I pass out."

"Back's that bad?"

"It's not great. And I've been too focused on planning to really notice until now."

Katsuki immediately changed direction, guiding them toward his room instead of anywhere else. "Come on. You need to rest, apply more ointment, and probably take something for the pain."

"I don't want to—"

"You're going to rest," Katsuki said firmly. "Doctor's orders. Or in this case, fiancé's orders. Which are basically the same thing."

"You're not a doctor."

"I've spent enough time patching up injuries to qualify." They reached his room, and Katsuki unlocked it with efficient movements. "Shirt off. Let me see how it's healing."

Izuku complied, moving carefully. In the bathroom mirror, the outline looked angry, red, slightly swollen, the skin protesting the hours of sitting and moving.

"It's fine," Katsuki said, already reaching for the healing ointment. "Just irritated. This is normal for day two." His hands were gentle as he applied the ointment, touch clinical but eyes concerned. "You should have said something during the meeting."

"I was focused."

"You were being stubborn." But there was fondness underneath the exasperation. "Which I can't really criticize since that's basically my default state."

"Exactly. You'd have done the same thing."

"Doesn't make it smart." Katsuki finished with the ointment and guided Izuku toward the bed. "Lie down. On your stomach. You're going to rest for at least two hours before dinner."

"What about you? Don't you have—"

"I have exactly one priority right now, and it's making sure you don't push yourself until you collapse." Katsuki settled beside him, his hand finding Izuku's, lacing their fingers together. "Everything else can wait."

Izuku wanted to protest, to insist he was fine, to keep planning and preparing. But exhaustion was pulling at him, the combination of pain and mental fatigue overwhelming.

"Just two hours," he mumbled, already drifting.

"However long you need." Katsuki's thumb traced circles on the back of his hand, soothing and rhythmic. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Izuku let himself drift, surrounded by warmth and safety and the steady presence of someone who'd chosen to love him despite everything. Tomorrow he'd face his father. In two days, Endeavor. But right now, he could rest.

The dragon on his back was still ascending.

And so was he.

---

He woke to the sound of voices.

Not loud, but urgent. Katsuki's voice, tense and controlled. And someone else. Female. Familiar.

Ashido.

"—don't care what the protocol is, I'm telling you now. He just showed up at the gate. Refused to leave. Said he'd wait however long it took."

"Did you tell him tomorrow at two?" Katsuki asked, and even half-asleep, Izuku could hear the barely controlled fury in his voice.

"I told him. He said that's unacceptable. That he's Izuku's father and he has a right to see him immediately." A pause. "Boss, he's making a scene. Security's ready to remove him by force, but that'll cause problems. Media attention we don't need."

Izuku sat up carefully, his back protesting. "I'm awake."

Both of them turned to look at him. Katsuki's expression was furious, protective. Ashido's was carefully professional.

"Your father's at the gate," Ashido said unnecessarily. "He's demanding to see you right now."

"Of course he is." Izuku rubbed his eyes, exhaustion still clinging to him. "Because god forbid he respects boundaries or follows rules that apply to everyone else."

"We can have him removed," Katsuki said. "Forcibly if necessary. You don't owe him anything, especially not on his terms."

"No." Izuku swung his legs off the bed, wincing as the movement pulled at his tattoo. "But I'm not seeing him now either. He doesn't get to show up demanding things and expect immediate compliance."

"So what do you want to do?" Ashido asked.

Izuku thought about it. About power dynamics and control and refusing to play by his father's rules anymore. About the dragon ascending on his back and the choice to move forward instead of being dragged back into old patterns.

"Tell him I'll see him at the gate. Five minutes. That's all he gets. No entry to the estate, no private conversation, no exceptions." Izuku's voice was steady, certain. "If he wants a real meeting, he can come back tomorrow at two like everyone else."

Ashido's grin was fierce. "I'll deliver the message."

After she left, Katsuki moved to stand in front of Izuku, his expression concerned. "You sure about this? You just woke up, your back's still healing, and you've had an intense day of planning. You don't have to face him now."

"I know I don't have to. But I want to." Izuku met his eyes. "I want him to see that I'm fine. That I'm making choices. That I'm not the person he tried to control anymore."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"I figured you would." Izuku stood, pulling on a shirt carefully. "Though I should warn you, my father's going to say things. Probably insulting things. Definitely manipulative things. And I need you to let me handle it."

"I can do that." But Katsuki's jaw was tight. "Unless he crosses a line. Then all bets are off."

"Fair enough."

They walked to the gate together, Ashido trailing behind as security. The early evening air was cool, the sun starting to set, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.

Hisashi Midoriya stood on the other side of the gate, looking every inch the corporate titan. Expensive suit, perfectly styled hair, expression calculated to project authority and concern in equal measure.

He looked exactly the same as he had two weeks ago. Like no time had passed at all. Like his son hadn't killed someone or gotten tattooed or fallen in love or transformed into someone completely different.

"Izuku." His father's voice was carefully modulated. Relief and reproach mixed together. "Thank god. I've been trying to reach you for days."

"I know. I've been busy." Izuku stopped on his side of the gate, making no move to open it or cross the threshold. "You have five minutes. Say what you came to say."

Hisashi's expression flickered. Surprise, anger, quickly masked. "Is this really necessary? I'm your father. I came to make sure you're alright."

"If you were concerned about whether I was alright, you would have tried to contact me directly instead of going through official channels." Izuku's voice was flat, emotionless. "If you were actually worried, you would have respected the meeting time that was offered tomorrow instead of showing up demanding immediate access."

"I have a right to see my son."

"You have the rights I choose to give you. Nothing more." Izuku felt Katsuki shift slightly beside him, a solid presence offering silent support. "You used me as a bargaining chip. You made agreements about my life without my input. You set all of this in motion and then just... left me to deal with it alone."

"I was protecting the company. Protecting our family's legacy—"

"You were protecting yourself." The words came out harder than Izuku intended, but he didn't take them back. "And I understand that. Business is business. Survival is survival. But don't pretend this was about me or about our family. This was about you maintaining power and status."

Hisashi's expression went cold. "Is this what they've taught you? To disrespect your father? To forget everything I've given you?"

"They've taught me to think for myself. To make choices instead of having choices made for me. To value partnership over control." Izuku took a breath. "And yes, I've learned that respect is earned, not demanded. That being my father doesn't automatically entitle you to my time or my obedience or my forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" Hisashi's voice rose slightly. "For what? For arranging a marriage that saved the company? For providing you with opportunities? For—"

"For lying to the Bakugo family about having a daughter. For putting me in a position where I had to prove myself or watch everything fall apart. For not caring enough to even ask if I was okay after—" Izuku stopped himself, jaw tight. "You've had your five minutes."

"Izuku—"

"Tomorrow at two, in Mitsuki-sama's office. You'll be allowed entry to the estate, escorted at all times, given thirty minutes for a formal meeting. Those are the terms. Take them or leave them."

Hisashi stared at him, and Izuku could see him calculating, assessing, trying to find an angle that would work. Trying to reassert control.

"You've changed," he said finally.

"Yes. I have." Izuku met his father's eyes steadily. "And I'm not going back to who I was before. So if you come tomorrow, you come prepared to meet the person I am now, not the person you expected me to be."

"And if I don't come?"

"Then I guess we have our answer about what you actually care about." Izuku turned to leave, then paused. "For what it's worth, I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm making choices that are mine. That should be enough for you."

He walked away without waiting for a response, Katsuki immediately falling into step beside him. Behind them, he could hear Ashido delivering a final message to his father, something about security escort and approved visitor protocol.

They were halfway back to the main house before Katsuki spoke.

"That was brutal."

"It needed to be." Izuku's hands were shaking slightly, adrenaline finally catching up. "He needed to understand that things are different now. That I'm different."

"You handled it perfectly." Katsuki's hand found his, squeezing hard. "Firm boundaries, no apologizing, completely in control. I'm impressed."

"I learned from the best." Izuku managed a smile despite the turmoil in his chest. "Though I think I'm going to have a panic attack now that it's over."

"Not a panic attack. Just an adrenaline crash." Katsuki guided them toward a quiet garden path instead of the main entrance. "Come on. Let's walk for a bit. Burn off some of the excess energy."

They walked in silence for several minutes, the estate grounds peaceful in the fading light. Izuku focused on breathing, on the feel of Katsuki's hand in his, on the solid reality of where he was and what he'd chosen.

"Do you think he'll come tomorrow?" Katsuki asked eventually.

"I don't know." Izuku considered it honestly. "Part of me thinks yes, because his pride won't let him back down from a challenge. Part of me thinks no, because coming means accepting that I set the terms instead of him."

"Either way, you did the right thing. Setting boundaries. Refusing to be manipulated."

"Doesn't feel right. Feels terrifying."

"Most of the right things do." Katsuki stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "But it's over. You stood your ground. Didn't let him make you feel guilty or uncertain. That's growth, Deku."

"Growth," Izuku repeated, tasting the word. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"What would you call it?"

"Transformation. Evolution. Becoming someone I don't always recognize." Izuku's voice was quiet. "Sometimes I look at myself—at the choices I'm making, the person I'm becoming—and I don't know if my old self would approve."

"Your old self was suffocating under expectations that weren't yours. He doesn't get a vote anymore." Katsuki's hand cupped his jaw, grounding and warm. "The person you're becoming? Strong enough to set boundaries. Brave enough to face threats. Capable enough to survive in this world. That person is worth becoming."

"You really believe that?"

"I really do." Katsuki leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. "And tomorrow, whether your father shows up or not, we'll handle it. Together. Like we handle everything now."

"Together," Izuku echoed, the word feeling like a promise. "I can work with that."

They stood there in the fading light, two people who'd been strangers two weeks ago and were now... something more. Something real. Something worth fighting for.

Tomorrow would bring his father, potentially. In two days, Endeavor. Beyond that, whoever had tried to kill him and would probably try again.

But tonight, he had this. Katsuki's warmth and the dragon on his back and the certainty that he'd made the right choice, even when everything felt uncertain.

The sun set over the Bakugo estate, painting the sky in shades of fire and gold.

And Izuku Midoriya, ascending dragon and chosen partner, stood in the garden and let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could survive whatever came next.

---

Dinner that evening was a quieter affair.

Word had spread about the confrontation at the gate. Of course it had, in a place where information was currency and everyone paid attention. But instead of the questions or judgment Izuku had half-expected, he found only acceptance.

Kirishima clapped him on the shoulder as he sat down. "Heard you told your old man to respect your boundaries. That's manly as hell, dude."

"Manly isn't the word I'd use," Izuku said, but he was almost smiling. "Terrifying, maybe. Necessary, definitely."

"Same thing," Ashido said from across the table. "Standing up to authority figures who think they own you? That takes guts. Especially when it's family."

"Is he coming tomorrow?" Kaminari asked, loading his plate with alarming efficiency.

"I don't know. Maybe." Izuku accepted rice from Sero with a grateful nod. "Either way, I think I made my point."

"You did," Mitsuki said from the head of the table, her voice carrying clearly. "I listened to Ashido's report. You handled yourself well. Set clear boundaries, refused to be manipulated, maintained control of the situation. That's exactly how you deal with people who think they can steamroll you."

"Even when it's family?" Izuku asked.

"Especially when it's family." Her expression was serious now. "Blood doesn't give people the right to control you or disrespect your choices. You decide who deserves your time and your trust. That's your right."

Masaru nodded in agreement. "Your father made choices that put you in a difficult position. Now he has to live with the consequences of those choices, which include you setting terms for your relationship going forward."

"What if he doesn't come tomorrow?" The question came from a quieter part of the table, one of the younger associates whose name Izuku was still learning.

"Then he doesn't come," Izuku said simply. "And we'll have our answer about what matters more to him. His pride or his relationship with me."

"Cold," Kaminari observed, but there was approval in his voice. "I like it."

The conversation shifted to other topics after that. Business updates, territorial developments, the upcoming meeting with Endeavor that everyone was carefully not mentioning directly but clearly thinking about.

Izuku found himself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of it. The easy banter, the shared information, the casual updates about an organization he was increasingly part of.

Halfway through the meal, his phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:

'I'll be there tomorrow at 2 PM. We need to talk. —Father'

Izuku stared at the message for a long moment, something complicated twisting in his chest. Relief? Anxiety? Vindication that he'd been right about his father's pride not letting him back down?

All of the above, probably.

He showed the message to Katsuki, who read it and frowned.

"You okay with this?" Katsuki asked quietly, pitched below the table's general conversation.

"I will be." Izuku pocketed his phone. "It's just a conversation. Thirty minutes. Supervised. I can handle that."

"I know you can. Doesn't mean you have to like it."

"No," Izuku agreed. "But I can handle things I don't like. I've been getting a lot of practice lately."

Katsuki's hand found his under the table, squeezing once. A reminder that he wasn't alone in this. That whatever happened tomorrow, he'd have backup.

After dinner, they retreated to Katsuki's room again. It was becoming routine now, Izuku sleeping here more often than in his own assigned quarters, the space gradually accumulating small signs of his presence. A book on the nightstand. His phone charger. Spare clothes in the closet.

Little markers of belonging that neither of them commented on but both noticed.

"Let me check the tattoo," Katsuki said, already moving toward the bathroom for supplies.

Izuku pulled off his shirt carefully, the movement easier now than it had been that morning. The angry redness had faded slightly, though the skin was still tender.

Katsuki's hands were gentle as he cleaned and re-applied ointment, his touch clinical but his eyes warm.

"It's healing well," he said. "No signs of infection. You're doing everything right."

"Kayama would kill me if I screwed up her work."

"She'd kill both of us. I'm supposed to be making sure you follow instructions." Katsuki finished with the ointment and pressed a careful kiss to Izuku's shoulder, just above the fresh ink. "There. All done."

They settled into bed with the easy familiarity of people who'd been doing this far longer than they actually had. Izuku's back against Katsuki's chest, careful positioning that avoided the healing tattoo but still allowed closeness.

"You nervous about tomorrow?" Katsuki asked quietly, his breath warm against Izuku's ear.

"About my father? Or about Endeavor the day after?"

"Both. Either. Whatever's keeping you awake right now."

Izuku thought about it honestly. "I'm nervous about my father saying things that make me doubt myself. About him finding the exact words to make me feel guilty or uncertain or like I'm being unreasonable."

"You're not being unreasonable."

"I know that logically. But he's had twenty-three years to learn exactly how to manipulate me. Two weeks of growth doesn't erase that muscle memory."

Katsuki's arm tightened around his waist. "Then I'll be there. And when he says those things, because he probably will, I'll remind you that you're not the person he controlled anymore. That you've made your choice and it's valid."

"What if I need the reminder more than once?"

"Then I'll remind you as many times as it takes." Katsuki's voice was absolutely certain. "That's what partners do. We hold each other up when the weight gets too heavy to carry alone."

Izuku laced his fingers through Katsuki's, holding on like an anchor. "What about Endeavor? Are you nervous about that?"

"Not nervous. Wary." Katsuki was quiet for a moment. "He's dangerous in ways that are hard to predict. Not because he's violent though. Violence is easy to predict and counter. But because he's patient. Strategic. Willing to play a long game that most people don't see until it's too late."

"And you think he's playing a long game with us?"

"I think he's playing several games simultaneously, and we're only seeing one or two of them." Katsuki shifted slightly, getting more comfortable. "But we're not going in blind. We have Shouto's intel, we have preparation, and we have each other. That's more advantage than most people get."

"Speaking of Shouto," Izuku said carefully, "that must be complicated. Having him work against his own father."

"It's been complicated for years. But Shouto made his choice a long time ago." Katsuki paused. "Kind of like you did, actually. Choosing to step away from a father who saw him as a tool instead of a person. Choosing his own path even when it meant burning bridges."

"Does Endeavor know? That his son is working with you?"

"We don't think so. Shouto's been careful. Maintains the appearance of the dutiful heir while feeding us information. It's dangerous as hell, but he's committed to it."

"Why?" Izuku asked. "What makes someone choose to betray their family like that?"

"You'd have to ask him. But from what I understand, Endeavor's abuse—and yeah, it was abuse, not discipline or tough love—broke something fundamental in their family. Shouto's mother had a breakdown. His oldest brother disappeared. His sister won't speak to any of them. The family's held together by obligation and fear, not love."

Katsuki's voice was thoughtful now.

"Shouto working with us? That's him trying to make sure his father doesn't do to other families what he did to his own. That's him choosing to be better than what he was raised to be."

"That's brave," Izuku said quietly.

"It's survival. Same as what you're doing." Katsuki pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, gentle and grounding. "You're both figuring out how to be your own person despite pressure to be someone else's tool."

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, the estate settling into its nighttime rhythms around them. Izuku felt himself starting to drift, exhaustion finally catching up after the intensity of the day.

"Kacchan?" he murmured, half-asleep already.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being here. For making this—" he gestured vaguely, "—feel possible."

"It is possible. We're living proof." Katsuki's arm tightened around him. "Now sleep. Tomorrow's going to be intense, and you need rest."

"What about you?"

"I'll sleep. Eventually." But his voice suggested otherwise.

Izuku wanted to argue, to insist that Katsuki needed rest too. But sleep was already pulling at him, warm and insistent.

The last thing he was aware of was Katsuki's steady breathing, the solid warmth of him, and the certainty that whatever tomorrow brought, they'd face it together.