Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The house had never been big —just two bedrooms, creaky floorboards, and wallpaper that had begun to peel at the corners of each room but it was his home. The smell of cinnamon and motor oil littered the hallways, a strange combination that somehow became the scent of safety. His father worked in a repair shop at the edge of town, no matter how hard he scrubbed, a faint trace of grease always lingered on his hands much to the annoyance of John’s mother. She was a baker at heart. If she wasn’t baking, she was working at the office, doing anything she could to provide a little extra to the family’s pockets. It didn’t matter how cold the world got outside, inside everything felt soft around the edges.

The afternoon light poured through the window like honey, coating the worn-out carpet and scuffed wooden furniture in gold. The lighting made it feel like ordinary moments could last last forever. In that golden hour, the world seemed small, contained, kind.

In the centre of the living room sat a small boy named John with a face that made people smile without realizing it. His eyes were a clear, deep blue — that caught the light and reflected it back like ripples on water. A small button nose sat above a mouth that seemed a little smudged with dirt from playing outside. His chestnut hair was soft yet messy, always falling into his eyes no matter how often his mother tried to brush it away. There was a cut on his knee from where he’d tripped chasing a neighbour’s cat earlier that day. He looked every bit the child he was. Full of wonder, full of mischief, but bright with life. A boy who believed the world was good, and that everything broken could be fixed if you just tried hard enough.

He was surrounded by a kingdom of scattered blocks, tiny plastic gears, and a little toy mech his dad had surprised him with on his last birthday. The hinges creaked softly when he twisted its joints, the way only well-loved toys did. In the kitchen his parents moved around each other with an easy rhythm born of years at one another’s side. His father’s laugh rumbled like a low engine while, his mother’s voice floated light and musical, and somewhere in between was the sound of sizzling food and clinking dishes.

“Jacky,” his mother called, a nickname only she used.

“What are you building over there?” her voice warm and inviting.

“A robot!” he declared proudly, holding up the little mech, gears seemingly glued to the sides, with confidence only four-year-olds had he yelled. “He’s gonna protect everyone!”

His dad leaned against the doorway, still holding the spatula, his grin wide beneath the grease smudges on his cheek. “That’s my boy,” he yelled, attempting to mimic the boy’s enthusiasm. “You’re just like your old man, just don’t blow up the house without me, okay?”

John’s giggle filled the room, a sound as bright as the sunlight.

John was four, and like all four-year-olds his mind was on one thing. Quirks. He didn’t know what his would be. Some kids in his class did, there was a range so far — from larger eyeballs to wings to a boy with a big shadow bird as a pet. The rest had to wait, theorise. Whose mom could float teacups and whose dad could bend steel with their teeth? Some kids got one of their parents’ quirks, some got both and others had a combination.

His parents had spent months making light-hearted bets, teasing that maybe he’d inherit his dad’s repair quirk or his mom’s minor teleportation. They’d joked about it over dinner, over bedtime stories, over his moms homemade cinnamon buns.

The jokes soon stopped.

John was fixated on his blocks, squinting in concentration. He wanted them to fit together, yet something was in the way and John couldn’t understand what. He needed to understand what. John pushed harder forcing the two blocks within each other.

Unbeknownst, to everyone, Johns hands began to glow — softly at first, like the shimmer of fireflies in a jar. The blocks trembled, then began to pull apart, seams unravelling with eerie precision. Not cracking. Not breaking. Disassembling — atom by atom, as if invisible fingers were peeling back reality itself the blocks seemingly disappearing within his tiny hands. John stared, wide-eyed, awestruck.

“Mom! Dad! Look!”

Johns wide grin turned to face his parents.

The golden light pulsed — soft to blinding in a heartbeat. The floor hummed beneath his small hands as the air grew weightless. And the edges of the world no longer felt soft.

The light spread from the blocks to the floor like ink in water. The table’s legs shuddered, its surface rippling as though the universe was collapsing. The chairs, the counter, the dishes — everything began to peel back into nothingness. The air filled with a sound like a page being torn out of existence. His parents turned to him — hands reaching, faces frozen in the split second between confusion and terror.

Then the light touched them.

Nothing. No blood. No violent end. Just a quiet, horrifying unravelling. Their fingers blurred into nothing; their faces contorted like that of nightmares. Skin, muscle, bone gone. Even the laughter that had just filled the room — all stripped down to silence.
Their screams never finished.

And they were gone.

The light winked out as quickly as it had flared. The cinnamon scent still hung in the air, but now the smell felt wrenching. Dust danced lazily in the sunlight where his parents had stood seconds before.

“Mom?” John’s voice was small. The floor was still warm under his fingers. “Dad?”

No answer.

He crawled toward the empty space his parents once stood, hands still trembling. He didn’t understand why the world suddenly felt too big, too quiet. The warmth inside him twisted into something sharp and cold. A metaphorical dagger carved John open as he came to the realisation.

“I didn’t mean to…” His little voice cracked open like glass.

“I didn’t mean to! Come back! Please!”

The golden hour hadn’t faded outside but inside, his world had already shattered.

Light from that day had long since burned out, leaving only the deafening static in John’s head. He didn’t move for what felt like hours. The house was silent — unnaturally silent. The smell of his mother’s cooking still lingered, undercut by the thick metallic tang of raw energy that had scorched the room.

He just sat there, trembling, his small fingers pressed into the floor where they had vanished. His voice had long since broken from crying. When the neighbours finally came — alerted by the flash — they found the boy sitting alone in the ruins of what used to be a home.

The police arrived soon after.

He remembered the flashing lights outside, red and blue projecting across the white walls. He remembered the paramedics whispers, “Where are the parents?” those words stung. A simple question he didn’t dare answer. His thoughts were interrupted by a man’s voice.

“Son,” the man said quietly, kneeling to look him in the eye, “can you tell me what happened?”

John couldn’t. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His throat was sandpaper.

“They’re gone,” was all he could scrape, his voice barely a whisper. “I made them… gone.”

The officer exchanged a look with his partner. One of them muttered something about “quirk manifestation trauma.” The other sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s get him somewhere safe.”

Social workers were kind, in that professional, distant way adults were when they didn’t know how to help. They asked questions about what he remembered. They asked his favourite heroes to try shoulder the burden. They showed him pictures of his parents police photos, they said would help him process. He didn’t want to see them because he already knew the face of his beautiful mother and caring farther his issue was, he couldn’t stop seeing them. The beauty that was morphed into disfigured faces because of a quirk, no because of HIS quirk.

Hours passed before the social workers told him he’d be staying with a relative — his grandmother. From his father’s side. She lived on the other side of town; John had visited a few times with his dad.

A glimmer of hope once again twinkled in johns’ eyes. The thought of safety. Family. Maybe she’d hold him like his mom used to, whisper that it wasn’t his fault and that things would be okay.

Thing were never ok.

The house stood at the edge of town, large and weathered. The paint on the exterior was peeling, flaking off in strips like old, tired skin, revealing dull, worn wood beneath. The front porch sagged in places, the steps creaked. The door, once a bright red, had long since faded to an exhausted shade of brown, and the iron railing along the porch was rusted, a thick layer of grime covering its surface. The yard was a patchwork of weeds, untrimmed grass, and a single, gnarled tree that loomed over the house. The air outside was thick with the scent of dry leaves and musty earth.

John stood at the foot of the steps, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, looking up at the house with a mix of reluctance and quiet frustration. The world he’d known — the warmth of his parents’ home, the laughter, the golden sunlight — seemed like a distant dream here. This place would have to be his home now he had nowhere else to turn.

The moment the door opened, He was face to face with his future. Her skin was pale — too pale, almost translucent — with faint, bluish veins that ran like rivers beneath the surface, tracing patterns on her thin, papery hands.

The creases in her face were deep, carved by years of a life lived quietly, and though her expression was often neutral, there was an intensity to her gaze, as if she could see right through you. Her hair was silver white, neatly combed back in a tight bun. There was an eerie stillness about her in that moment, as if she existed outside of time itself.

John had grown used to her presence over the years, but it was never easy. There was something unnatural about the way she blended into the background, her quietness almost suffocating, her age never quite matching the sharpness of her mind. She was always there, always watching, and though she never spoke a word of concern or affection, her silence often felt louder than any conversation.

His eyes locked on hers, cold, grey, hollow burrowing into John’s soul.

The handover from the social workers to his grandma was quick and smooth, as if it was a simple exchange of goods. Damaged goods, that’s what John felt like. As the workers said their goodbyes, the large front door creaked to a close.
John felt calm. The only thing he could hear was the distant ticking of a clock on the mantel until…

“So, they were right,” she said quietly, her voice was like gravel. “You did it.”

John’s fingers tightened. “What…” before John could finish his sentence a slap reverberated throughout the house. Her hand had come down like a whip — not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough to sting, to burn.

“Don’t you dare say a word” she hissed. “You killed my son. You killed your own mother. You took everything from them with that filthy quirk.”

Tears stung his eyes again. “I’m sorry!” he cried. “I didn’t—” the hand came down once again this time with enough force to knock the wind out of John. “Sorry doesn’t bring them back.” She turned and walked into the dim, cluttered house. “You’ll earn your keep here for now. You stay out of sight, you hear? And if you touch anything—”

Her voice trailed off before suddenly reaching out her thin, pale hand. It glowed a violent red hue, suddenly John was hit by an extreme wave of disorientation he began to feel his legs fall off the bone, sever and part at the joints as if being pulled apart and scorched before seemingly being clamped and forced back together. The pain was agonizing. Screams clawed their way out of the young boy’s mouth to only fall on deaf ears.
John passed out.

Life with his grandmother was cruel.

Most days she kept the blinds closed, muttering that she couldn’t stand the neighbours pitying looks. The house smelled like mothballs and medicine and every meal was the same: cold and unfulfilling, with the occasional jab about how he should “never had been born.” That was the only thing they could agree on.

He wasn’t allowed to use his quirk. Not in front of her anyway. It’s not like he could, his quirk hadn’t activated since…that day — a blessing in John’s mind. 6 months had passed, stuck in a garage that had been fashioned into a bedroom — an old, dusty space filled with broken appliances, tools, and rusted metal. Each day was the same, at 4 years old, John was made to clean around the house. Sweeping, mopping, polishing. No stone left unturned. If Grandma found even an speck of dust John would soon know about it.

Stitch, that was her quirks name. At least that’s what John dubbed it. From what he could understand, the user could forcibly “repair” damage to an object — but the process was brutal. Rather than healing naturally, “Stitch” pulled things back together at the molecular level whether they fit or not. Bones could fuse unevenly, nerves reconnecting out of sync, skin meshed together like that of a horror movie. John had learnt all of this first hand.

After cleaning he was forced back to his ‘room’. Left with nothing but time— time to think, time to cry, time to remember what he had done. He still blamed himself for his parents’ deaths. If he wasn’t so young, if he wasn’t so weak, if he had never have been born…

Over time, John began to like the Garage, it was quiet, and the monster didn’t dare come in. Not to mention the smell of rusted metal reminded him of his dad. It’s strange to think a man as caring as his dad had come from a place like this. Johns eyes came to a close. unmoving. Did she treat him this way? The man was John’s hero his smile was permanently engraved in his mind along with the image of him tinkering, even at the dinner table, making new inventions that he promised would one day change the world. It felt like his dad was by his side in that moment. A familiarity he had missed. John smiled, a sight that had now become a luxury.

"I miss you"

The state of bliss hung for a second longer before, he re-opened his eyes to that same firefly glow, he knew too well. Panic set in. His quirk was activating again. Soft, desperate pleas left John’s mouth hoping, begging that this was a nightmare that he wasn’t awake. The thing that had killed his parents was back; more people would die because of him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. John took a staggered breath almost accepting what was to come.

But the glow felt different, fainter, that’s when he noticed something began to materialise in the centre of the room. It was small, no bigger than the boy’s head. The light died down and in front of him stood a little toy mech. No, no this was HIS toy mech from his house. How did…? No, the light destroyed it just like it did his parents. His quirk was nothing but a curse, a weapon, right? He quickly moved to the centre of the room before picking up the toy. It was firm in his hands and sleek in a way it hadn’t been in a long time.

John twisted the mechs joints, when he noticed, the hinges no longer creaked, the quality reminded him of the day he got it, did — did his quirk do this? His mind began to race, theorising, what if he didn’t vaporise his house but stored it somewhere, perhaps teleported it away? A wave a sickness washed over him as he wondered, was his parents still alive?

John couldn’t sleep that night, he had to know if his quirk could bring them back. He knew he was chasing a shadow, but he didn’t care because there was a chance, a chance he could get his old life back, with his mom and his dad, with his house and his friends. This nightmare could finally be over he just needed to master his quirk. He would become their hero.

John didn’t sleep that night.

Chapter Text

Months had passed since his declaration, and he was no closer to his goal. His days still held a layer of repetitiveness that had morphed into familiarity, his days were spent cleaning, but he had been told he would soon be joining school again. Despite his grandmothers protests.

She seemed to ease up over time, caring less and less about what he was doing. Only caring that the cleaning was done and that he was out of sight. Still, his grandmother never let him forget what he had done that day. Often forcing John to write pages upon pages of apologises or made to verbally admit ‘he was a villain’ during his quirk inflicted ‘repent’.

If John wasn’t cleaning, he was working on his machines. Simple repair jobs most teenagers could do, the difference was John was only 5. His birthday had been and gone, uncelebrated a month prior. At first, he did repairs just to pass time. As a form of entertainment, he had got a radio working. Later, he tinkered because he found comfort in it.

And so, the garage became his workshop.

It was a chilly morning, and John was in his small, cluttered room, tinkering with scraps of metal and bits of wire. The cold seeped through the cracks of his grandmother’s house, making him shiver. He could hear outside, other kids were playing, but John’s always been more interested in things not people. A trait he gained through his isolation.

John had been practising his quirk every day. He dubbed it Digi-struct, allowing him to store objects within his hands — when the object is released or ‘Digi-structed it is restored to its original state.

He found some drawbacks. Number one, with the exception of the awakening, his quirk can only store objects twice the weight of himself. Number two, he has still yet to test his quirk on a living object. Number three, the object will not be restored to its original state instantly, larger objects seem to take upwards of an hour to be restored. Furthermore, the object will not be restored to its original state if the user doesn’t understand how, it would be restored. Another reason why John was tinkering, information is power when it came to his quirk. Finally, there was still no evidence that his parents had survived within his quirk, the idea was ridiculous, and he knew it, but it was also his last hope of saying goodbye.

A sudden noise from outside broke his concentration: a frantic meowing from beyond the iron shutters of the garage.

John called out for his grandmother, his small voice echoing through the house, but there was no response. He could hear the creak of floorboards as she goes about her own indifferent business. He sighed, frustration bubbling, but by now he should know he can’t rely on anyone else.

Putting on his little coat, John stepped outside. The chill hit him immediately, making his blue eyes water as he surveys the yard. There it is: a chubby, white cat almost camouflaged by the falling snow, its tiny body perched precariously on a high branch, nose twitching nervously.

Without another thought, John grabbed the nearest branch and began to ascend. Step by careful step, he climbed, his small hands gripping the rough bark. Halfway up, his legs began to tremble. The cat let out another frantic meow, and a spark of courage shots up the young hero’s spine. The cat was just as scared as him, this will be his first rescue. He had to be brave.

Minutes went by, before finally, he pushes for a low-hanging branch near the cat. It looks down at him, eyes wide, claws digging into the tree. Carefully, John wrapped his small hands around the trembling cat, feeling its tiny heart race against his chest. He slowly makes his way down the tree, muscles trembling but determination holding firm. Finally, his feet embraced the ground. Relief washed over him, and the cat let out a soft purr, nuzzling into his hands as a sort of thank you.

Just then, a voice calls out, full of awe and excitement:

"Wow! You’re so strong! Are you some sort of kid-hero?!"

John looks up to see a boy, no older than five years old. Green hair, messy and untamed at odd angles, giving him a scruffy appearance. He had big, round eyes that were soft shade of green. Freckles littering his round cheeks. He wore a slightly oversized shirt with a strange blond character on the front and a pair of well-worn sneakers with the laces untied. There was an innocence to his expression, a purity that came with being a child in a world filled with heroes.

John freezes for a moment, unsure what to say. The cat in his arms twitches, sensing the tension.

John shakes his head shyly, his small fingers nervously curling around the cat. "I-I’m not a hero," he admits softly. "I’m just… trying to be."

"Really? That’s amazing! I’m trying to be a hero too!" the boys eyes widen, shining with excitement. “One day I’m going to be just like All might!”

Johns’ eyebrows raise at the name before he could dig any further the boy introduces himself.

"I’m Izuku, what’s your name," he yelled.

“John” the reply was as simple.

"Well, it’s nice to meet you John, I just thought your climbing Quirk was so cool!"

“Climbing Quirk?” he retorted.

“Yeah, I assumed you had some kind of Monkey quirk with how fast you climbed that tree.” Izuku said confidently.

John felt a grin climb his face. Slowly he realised the cat onto the floor allowing it to slip away. Then came laughter, almost hysteria, he hadn’t known how long it had been since he laughed, a real guttural laugh. Over something as silly as a quirk that gave you a tail like a monkey. The green hair boy joined in.

Encouraged by Izuku’s quirk enthusiasm, John shakes his head before straightening his posture and pointed to a small rock lying in the grass. Concentrating, he activated his Quirk, and the rock vanished from view in a golden hue, only to reappear in his hands. Izuku gasps, clapping his little hands together.

"Wow! That’s incredible! What’s your Quirk called?" he asked eagerly.

John begins to go on a tangent on how his quirk works much to the awe of Izuku Midoriya they spent the next 10 minutes theorising quirk usages with Izuku even listing support gear that might help. John makes a mental note of Izuku’s intelligence before realising, he’s speaking to someone. Omg he is actually speaking to a real person. Someone his age! Not that miserable hag…a friend perhaps.

“You’re going to be an amazing hero one day!” Izuku exclaims.

The words hit him like a sledgehammer. Someone believed in him. Curiosity sparked in John’s eyes. "Can you show me your Quirk too?"

Izuku’s face fell. Was John being to forward? Had he already messed it up?

“I-I don’t have one…please don’t laugh…” His voice was small, almost like a whisper.

There was a pause.

“Can we- s-still be friends?” John says

Izuku blinks, stunned, “You don’t care that I don’t have a quirk?” He asks.

“I didn’t even know people could be born without a quirk.” A mischievous smile reappears on the face of John “If you want, I can teach you how to climb and we can pretend you have a monkey quirk!”

Both boys break out into uncontrollable fits of laughter with Izuku mixing in heavy tears. Tears of relief? The laughter died down before Izuku wiped his eyes, still sniffling from their shared laughter. His eyes shining with acceptance.

“You know,” he said, “my mom is making food. Do you wanna come? She’ll definitely want to meet you!” He smiled wide, his eyes glowing with an eagerness that John couldn’t help but feel drawn to. “I promise it’s really nice, she makes the best food.”
John hesitated, feeling the familiar tug of uncertainty in his chest. He had never been invited anywhere. He had also never invited anyone over; his grandmother’s house wasn’t exactly the kind of place one invited people to. His grandmother’s cold presence always seemed to hang in the air, leaving everything muffled, distant. A house, yes, but a place devoid of warmth. He remembered the rusting rails at the front gate and the heavy silence during meals. He could still feel the weight of it pressing on him, just the thought of it.

But this… Izuku was offering something completely different. It felt like an invitation to a world he long forgot. A world that was taken from him. The way Izuku spoke about his mom, with such open fondness and warmth… reminded him of his own mom.

“I-I’ll come,” John finally said, his voice quieter than before. The thought of leaving even just for a little while, made his stomach flutter. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Izuku’s face lit up at the response, his green hair bobbing excitedly as he grabbed John by the hand and started pulling him along. “Great! I’ll bet Mom will be so surprised you’re coming over! She’s always saying I need more friends.”

As they walked toward Izuku’s house, John couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort wash over him. The path to Izuku’s house was neatly kept, with flowers lining the edges and trees that shaded the way, casting dappled patterns of sunlight on the ground. It felt like something out of a dream compared to the shadows of his own house. The air smelled sweeter here and even the sound of birds chirping felt warmer, more alive.

When they arrived at the front door, it opened almost immediately, and standing in the doorway was a woman with soft, green hair and warm, kind eyes. Her expression shifted from surprise to a smile of genuine delight when she saw Izuku standing there with a boy.

“Well, hello there!” she said, her voice soft and welcoming. “Izuku, who’s this?”

Izuku stood up straighter, his excitement amplified, you could hear the pride in his voice. “Mom, this is my friend John! He’s got an awesome Quirk! And we’re going to be heroes one day!”

John’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the attention, but Izuku’s mom didn’t seem to notice. She was already ushering them inside, the door swinging wide to reveal the interior of their home.

The inside of the Midoriya household was bright and cozy, a stark contrast to John’s grandmother’s home. The walls were a cheerful pale green, lined with family photos — some of them faded, with people smiling and laughing in each one. There were plants in every corner. The living room smelled like fresh tea and something sweet baking in the oven. The memory of his own mother resurfaced again; he began to hold back tears. The space was filled with sounds of the soft vibrations of appliances, the rustle of paper, the hum of the radio in the background.

Izuku’s mom led them into the kitchen, where a kettle was already heating up on the stove, and a plate of cookies sat on the table, looking freshly baked. The whole place felt… right. Johns heart felt lighter.

She took a moment to look at the two boys, raising an eyebrow. “A friend, Izuku?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I didn’t know you had any friends other than Katsuki.”

Izuku shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, but John couldn’t help but notice the way his face changed when he heard the name. “Yeah! Johns awesome. He’s got this really cool Quirk that can make things disappear. It’s like magic!”

His mom chuckled, setting down cups on the table. “Well, I’m glad to see you’ve made a friend, Izuku. Food should be ready in just a minute. You two must be starving after all that talking.”

John felt real, even as he glanced around the room, soaking in the light and warmth. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he belonged somewhere. And that, more than anything, made him feel like something had finally started to change.

John left the household a couple of hours later, stomach full, while Mrs Midoriya had offered to call his ‘Mother’ to come and collect him, John assured her that his house was only a couple doors down and that he did the walk all the time. Of course, this was a lie. John didn’t want to become a burden.

“Wait before you go” Izuku’s mom smiled warmly, before reaching for her camera

“I can’t let this moment pass without a picture.”

John was caught off-guard when Izuku’s arm wrapped around his shoulder making the boy straighten up and give a half-smile towards the camera. Izuku, on the other hand, was practically glowing, his face lighting up with cheeky grin. The camera clicked, capturing the two of them together—John’s awkward posture beside Izuku’s joyful, carefree energy.

Inko’s smile softened as she lowered the camera, her heart swelling with a quiet pride. "Just a memory," she murmured to herself, though loud enough for them to hear.

After that, John said his goodbyes, promising to play with Izuku again tomorrow.

The walk home was peaceful he did not get out very often so the little time he had without the warm air of the house was reliving. He knew his grandma would be furious when she realised, he was gone but that didn’t matter John was happy.

Arriving back at his grandma’s house he slipped past the gates silently and opened the garage door to his workshop. Anticipating the punishment waiting on the other side... There was nothing. Did she not notice he was gone? Had she not even cared? A pain rung from his heart. Why did that hurt so much, he should be happy he didn’t get caught. Happy that his skin and bone wasn’t ripped apart and sewed back together within seconds. Yet he wasn’t happy. It was the feeling of being unwanted that stung more than any quirk. Being an afterthought in someone else’s mind. A background character in someone’s story. He was alone. She was meant to care; she was meant to protect him. Tears threatened to fall but John wouldn’t let then he refused to shed a tear for that monster.

In a fit of anger, John went to fling his coat across the room when he reached into his pocket and his hand connected with something foreign. It was a cookie, wrapped in film with a little note that read ‘Thank you for making my son smile’ From Mrs. M. The flood gates couldn’t hold any longer, John cried himself to sleep that night, at the time he couldn’t explain it. His mind once again, imagined Izuku. In his nice home, in a warm bed with someone that loved him. Izuku was so lucky.

John just wanted a fraction of what Izuku had.

Chapter Text

It had been 2 months since he met Izuku and already they were inseparable. Every day they would hang out at Midoriya’s house for an hour or two before going to the park opposite to play. Mrs. M would always comment on their way out about the size of the young boy always threatening to ring home about his eating habits, John argued that it was his own fault. That he never felt hungry, and that Mrs Midoriya shouldn’t worry so much.

The park was alive with the sound of children laughing and the squeaking of swings. Warm sunlight filtered through the leaves of tall trees.

John sat at the edge of a wooden picnic bench, peeling bark off a stick with his fingernail. Izuku perches right next to him, feet kicking in the air, barely tall enough to reach the edge of the seat. His oversized shirt flaps slightly in the breeze, messy green hair getting fluffier every time the wind tugged at it.

Izuku leaned forward, excitement building in him like a shaken soda can.

“John… um… do you have a favourite hero?” he asks, voice soft but hopeful.

John shrugs, glancing toward the playground. “I dunno. I don’t think about heroes that much.”

Izuku gasps dramatically, hands flying to his cheeks. “But—but heroes are amazing!”

John smiles slightly at how serious he sounds.

Izuku wiggles closer. “They save people, and help everyone, and fight villains, and—and they jump off buildings all cool-like!” He gestures to the monkey bars as if they’re the top of a skyscraper.

John raises an eyebrow. “Who’s your favorite then?”

“All Might!” Izuku blurted, nearly falling off the bench with enthusiasm. “’Cause he’s the best! He’s super strong, and he always smiles even when things are scary, and — and he always saves everybody!”

“Why’s that your favourite part?”

Izuku swings his legs, thinking hard. “Because… because he makes people feel safe. For I AM HERE!”

A chuckle escaped from Johns mouth; the impression was spot on. He thought for a second longer.

“But what if doing the right thing… isn’t the best thing?”

Izuku turns, confused. “Huh?”

John’s tone grew serious. “Sometimes… heroes have to do something bad to stop something worse. Maybe… huh I can’t explain it.”

Izuku’s eyes go wide, freckles tightening. “But heroes don’t do bad things!” he says, voice rising in soft panic. “Heroes do the right things!”

John looks down at his sneakers. “Even if someone gets hurt?”

Izuku hesitates. He looks toward the swings—two kids pumping their legs in tandem, shrieking with joy. The world looks so simple from a playground.

Then he shakes his head firmly. “Heroes always find a way, so no one gets hurt,” he insists. “T-that’s what makes them heroes.”

John watches him quietly, blue eyes full of something older than their age. He doesn’t argue.

“…Maybe,” he murmurs. “But the world’s not that simple.”

Izuku frowns, little brows knitting together. Not out of anger. More like trying really hard to solve a puzzle with too many pieces.

“Well,” he says at last, “When I grow up, I’m going to make it simple.” He places a small hand over his chest with determination. “I will save everybody. No matter what.”

John looks at him and for the first time, the idea doesn’t seem so impossible.

“…That’s kinda cool,” he says softly.

Izuku beams, swinging his legs harder, radiating pure joy.

“ And we will do it together”

“Promise?”

“Promise”

Soon came the first day of school.

John stood nervously outside his new classroom, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wall. The room sounded like it was filled with the excited chatter of kids. All of them more familiar with each other than he was.

The teacher, a kind-looking woman with dark hair tied up in a bun, stood at the front of the class, arranging papers on her desk.

"Alright, class," she began, her voice gentle yet firm, "we have a new student today. His name is John. I’m sure you’ll all make him feel very welcome.”

John entered the classroom standing at the front like an exhibit. His gaze flickered to the other students as the room fell into a brief hush. There were the curious stares some friendly, some not so much. But then, to his surprise, he saw Izuku. The green haired boys face lit up from across the room, as he waved enthusiastically.

John’s heart lifted at the sight of his friend’s excitement. It was the first time he had felt a flicker of ease since he’d walked into the building. He gave a small wave back, then ducked his head, trying to suppress a grin.

The teacher seemed to see the interaction her face seemingly scrunching into sorrow, begrudgingly she nodded for John to sit on his seat at the desk next to Izuku. John sat down, glancing nervously at the others. As he settled into his seat, he couldn’t help but notice how the atmosphere shifted. The friendly faces looked almost fearful, almost sorry looking.

“John” Izuku whispered, his voice cheerful as he seemingly vibrating in his seat. “You’re here! I didn’t know we’d be in the same class!”

John smiles — a sight more common when Izuku was around “Izuku why are people…”

"Now, class," the teacher continued, invertedly cutting off Johns hushed whisper. The tone shifting to one of instruction, "Let’s start." She wrote a complex Equation question on the board. "Let's see how well you all understand this. By the end of this week, we should all know the answer." The teacher turned to a sea of blank faces, dumbfounded, confused.

John blinked, his eyes scanning the question. Was it a trick? Why did it look so easy. The answer popped up in his mind faster than he could write it down. Without thinking, he raised his hand.

The teacher turned, surprised by the raised hand. “Yes, John?” she asked, clearly expecting a hesitant response.

John stood, straightening his back as his palms felt a little sweaty. “The answer is 184.5,” he said, his voice quiet but certain.

The class fell silent. Anticipating a rejection for the new kid.

“That’s correct, John. Well done. “The teacher blinked in surprise, impressed, but she quickly recovered with a smile.

The students exchanged glances, some whispering among themselves. It wasn’t just that John had answered the question correctly; it was how quick he had done so. Whispers began to spread.

“He must have cheated”

“Might have been his quirk”

“He probably guessed”

Izuku was watching him, wide-eyed with admiration. "Wow, John! That was amazing! You’re really smart!”

John smiled, a little smug about the attention. “It’s nothing,” he said, looking down at his hands.

After a few more moments, the teacher moved on, but John could sense that the eyes of his classmates were now on him in a different way. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The last thing he wanted was to stand out.
Just as the class started on another exercise, the door to the classroom suddenly flew open. The teacher flinched, and all the students turned in unison. A young boy strode into the room with a scowl plastered across his face. His spiky blonde hair was practically standing on end, and his hands were clenched into tight fists.

“Damn it!” the boy shouted, glaring at the teacher, who quickly composed herself.

“Well, Bakugo,” the teacher said calmly, “You are late. And we do not use that kind of language in my classroom.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a defiant sneer. "Tch. Whatever," he muttered, crossing his arms. He had an air about him, a dangerous aura that seemed to make Izuku uneasy. His eyes, a fierce red, locked onto John.

“Who are you?” the boy growled, pointing at John. “Some kind of nerd?”

John froze. The boy’s presence was... overwhelming. His gaze was sharp, like a knife. John could feel it.

“Bakugo, be polite,” the teacher said, her voice still calm but with a slight edge to it.

Izuku leaned closer to John, whispering with a worried look on his face. “That’s Kacchan. He’s… a little intense, but he’s smart and his quirk is so cool.”

Bakugo glared at Izuku before rolling his eyes. “Shut up, Deku,” he sneered, turning his attention back to John.

John felt his stomach churn. He hadn’t done anything wrong, yet Bakugo’s hostility was immediate and intense. He didn’t know how to respond, so he just looked down at his desk, clutching his pencil. It wasn’t like the teasing he was used to back home. This was different. He didn’t deserve this.

But Izuku didn’t seem bothered by it. He simply shrugged. “Kacchan, John’s really nice.”

John nodded silently, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. He’d learned quickly that it was best to just stay out of the way when things like this happened.

Bakugo’s eyes lingered on John for another moment, then, without saying anything else, he grunted and plopped down in his seat, his posture still aggressive. It was clear he wasn’t about to make any effort to be friendly.

John couldn’t help but feel a little shaken. First day, and already, he was caught in the crossfire of something he didn’t quite understand. The bell rang, signalling the start of a new lesson, he found himself thinking back, to the confrontation, who’s Deku?

The bell rang loudly, signalling the end of the morning’s lessons. The classroom buzzed with excitement. Kids scrambled to grab their lunch boxes, eager to escape the confines of the classroom and stretch their legs. John, following Izuku’s lead, walked out into the yard, which was now bathed in the bright midday sun.

The schoolyard was bustling with energy. Students gathered in clusters, some tossing a ball around, others sitting under the shade of nearby trees. The playground equipment creaked in the breeze, swaying as children played, laughing and shouting. The tall fence surrounding the yard gave a sense of containment, but the space felt far from a prison — it was lively, chaotic and full of life in a way that sparked childlike wonder.

John glanced around, feeling a strange mix of wonder and uncertainty. The whole place was so… normal. The kids were laughing, sharing snacks, and even the food being flung felt like something out of a typical childhood. There was a feeling here that John realized he was missed. Normality.

Izuku sat on a nearby bench, unpacking his lunchbox, and John immediately joined him. John absentmindedly pulled at the edges of his uniform, trying to get comfortable, his stomach quietly growling. He hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.
He glanced around, noticing how every other kid seemed to have a lunchbox. Some of the kids were already digging in, chatting with friends as chewed down on snacks or homemade sandwiches. John couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing. He hadn’t packed anything for himself. He didn’t know he needed to.

As Izuku opened his lunchbox with a loud snap, John’s eyes were immediately drawn to it. The box itself was nothing fancy—a simple, pastel-green container with a sticker of All Might stuck to the front. Inside, the food was neatly packed, each item carefully prepared. There were two perfectly shaped rice balls, wrapped in seaweed, a small section of pickled vegetables, and a few slices of cucumber, all arranged neatly inside the compartment. The delicate care with which the food had been made was evident it had been the work of Mrs Midoria. This was proven with a small note, folded neatly under the rice balls, that peeked out from one side. Izuku didn’t seem to pay much attention to it, but John could see the soft handwriting that read, “Eat well, Izuku! Love, Mom.”
He didn’t even have to look to see the love behind every detail. It was the kind of warmth John had only ever experienced in fleeting moments or distant memories…
Suddenly John was in a staring contest with a rice ball.

Past the gourmet architecture was a set of round green eyes gleaming with pride.

Izuku smiled brightly, offering a piece to John. "Want some?"

John froze for a second, the sensation of his stomach twisting He hadn’t expected this kind of generosity. He opened his mouth to refuse, but Izuku saw this as an invitation.

The rice ball was quickly deposited into his mouth. The taste and texture were divine, he still couldn’t get over Mrs Midoriya cooking, the symphony of flavours were something out of a fairy tale. The churning of Johns stomach drowned out John’s refusal of a second bite.

"But I didn’t… I didn’t bring anything," John said softly, glancing down at the ground, unable to meet Izuku’s eyes. “I… I didn’t have time to pack anything.”

Izuku’s smile faltered for just a moment, and for a brief second, John saw the flicker of concern in his eyes. It was quickly replaced by an even brighter grin. “That’s okay!” Izuku exclaimed, not missing a beat. “I have plenty to share! Mom always makes more than enough. You can have some of my lunch! You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

Izuku held out the other rice ball to John, offering it with such sincerity that John couldn’t bring himself to refuse. The food was soft, fluffy making his mouth water. More than anything it was the kindness in Izuku’s eyes that made it hard to look away.

Izuku sat down beside him, looking pleased with himself. “I’m really glad you like it!” He beamed. “Mom always says food is meant to be shared. That way, everyone gets to enjoy it, right?”

John nodded, swallowing the last of the rice ball. He’d always been used to eating alone or going without. But here, in this moment…

“I… I think I’ll get used to this,” John whispered, looking at Izuku with a small smile. “Thanks for sharing.”

Izuku smiled back, his eyes bright and full of warmth. “Of course! We’re friends, right?” John’s heart fluttered at the word. Friends. It felt like a rare, precious thing.

Before he could respond, a loud voice interrupted the moment.

“Tch. What’s this? You think your too cool to eat with everyone else?” Bakugo’s voice was a harsh growl, and John’s stomach dropped. The familiar aggressive energy of Bakugo returned, and he wasn’t alone this time. Izuku shrank back, his smile fading. “Kacchan, please… Don’t start…"

Bakugo turned to his lackeys, who stood behind him snickering. “Look at him, so pathetic. And you,” he shot a glare at John, “What are you, a charity? Do you even know who you’re sitting next to?”

Izuku’s eyes start to water, refusing to back down. He tightened his grip his knuckles going white.

“You’re sitting next to the biggest loser in the school, quirkless little Deku.” The voice was slimy and cold belonging to one of the boys stood behind Bakugo.

John blinked. “Deku?” turning to Izuku, who’s face dropped slightly, his usual smile faltering as he fiddled with his lunchbox. “Yeah… it’s… it’s a nickname, they call it me because it sounds like ‘useless.’”

John’s heart sank, a pang of empathy shooting through him. That’s awful, he thought.

“Look, I’m doing you a favour.” Bakugo said his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Being friends with Deku is social suicide, so get out of my way so I can teach the nerd where he belongs.”

Sparks began to erupt from Bakugo’s hands as he cocked his fist to land a left hook to Izuku’s jaw. Izuku stood frozen almost subconsciously accepting his fate. Bakugo’s fist connected HARD before he let off a series of mini explosions to deepen the damage and drive the message home.

Through the smoke, A voice could be heard. “Leave him alone, Bakugo,” slowly the battlefield cleared. Between the two boys was John. Blood was rushing from his nose as he held a fighting stance. Bakugo was quick to notice burn marks down the right side of Johns face. He had taken the hit. Tch, another wannabe hero.

“Aw, what’s this?” Bakugo sneered, stepping closer. “You found yourself a bodyguard, Deku? You think he’s gonna help you get stronger?” The comment snaped Izuku out of his shock.

John didn’t flinch as Bakugou approached “Your pathetic.” His words were simple, but they carried weight, and for a moment, the tension in the air thickened. Bakugo’s nostrils flared.

“You want round two?” he growled, his voice rising. “I’ll show you what real power looks like!”

John didn’t move. He didn’t back down. He didn’t want to fight, but he wasn’t about to let Bakugo hurt Izuku any longer. The next words that slipped from his mouth where for Izuku.

“It’s okay. You’re not alone,” John said quietly, his voice firm yet gentle. “Because I am here.”

Bakugo’s hands crackled as he began to slowly close the gap.

Before things could escalate, the teacher’s voice rang out across the yard.

“Bakugo, I told you before, no fighting in school!” she called sternly, walking toward them. Bakugo growled under his breath but didn’t say anything more. With one final glare at John and Izuku, he turned on his heel, his lackeys following in tow.
Izuku exhaled shakily, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He looked at John; filled with gratitude.

“Thanks… you didn’t have to do that,” Izuku murmured, his voice small. Tears once again bordering his eyes.

“I wanted to” John’s heart still racing from the encounter. “I’m not going to let anyone treat you like that...”

John felt a thump hit into his chest. A small green thump. An embrace. He’d forgotten what that felt like, it was nice. The air seemed to lighten again as the two of them stood there in the schoolyard, the chaos of the world around them continuing as if nothing had happened. But John knew, from that moment, something had changed. He was now a target. Bakugo was right, being friends with Izuku Midoriya was social suicide. There were worse ways to die.

Chapter Text

10 Years Later

John was 14 now. Taller than most of the boys his age, his frame now sculpted through constant tinkering and training. His chestnut hair was a little longer, uniformed and styled. His deep blue eyes—once full of hesitation—had settled into a quiet intensity. And, if you asked around school, most girls would tell you. John was “handsome,” though he barely cared to notice. He had long since stopped caring about the opinions of others, lost in his endless projects, his mind constantly whirring with ideas. In the years since his quirky powers first manifested, John had pushed his abilities far beyond what the 5-year-old him could have imagined. His Digi-struct Quirk had improved dramatically.

He could now store objects much larger and heavier than himself—tools, machines, even entire shelves of gadgets. Still, his strength was his limitation. No matter how much he stored, there was a limit to how much he could carry without straining himself. But it was enough. Enough to make things, to build, to invent. Enough to change the world.

Izuku, too, had changed in his own way. At 14, he had endured nearly a decade of cruelty. The taunts, the jeers, the relentless bullying from classmates who mocked him for his lack of a Quirk had all taken their toll, but they had not broken him. His posture had straightened. His determination had solidified into something steely. Where some would have crumbled, Izuku had grown, using his intellect and unshakeable willpower to combat every setback. His desire to become a hero had only intensified.

And the one thing that remained constant, the one person who never left his side?

John.

The bond between them was something deeper than mere friendship. undeniable. John was his only real friend, the person who saw Izuku for who he truly was, not just a ‘Deku’, but a boy full of potential, full of fire. John had never once turned his back on him, even when the world seemed to be against them both.

They dreamed of the same thing: UA.

The most prestigious school in the country; it was the place where both of them believed they could prove their worth. It was a place where they could shape their future, where Izuku could finally stop being the victim, and where John could finally be the man he wanted to be.

John gained a reputation at school—one he didn’t want but couldn’t avoid. His unwavering loyalty to Izuku had made him stick out. The other students avoided him, whispering behind his back, calling him “Deku’s guard dog”. They saw the way he defended Izuku, the way he stayed by his side even when it wasn’t popular. And for that, they punished him. John hated the nickname. He hated being branded but it was hard not to be when associated with Izuku Midoriya.

The one who made their lives most difficult, though, was the ever-volatile Katsuki Bakugo.

Bakugo was the antithesis of Izuku. His explosive temper and the power of his Quirk made him untouchable in the eyes of their classmates. No one dared to stand up to him not even teachers and for years, he had bullied Izuku mercilessly. But when John was around it was different. Bakugo had always tried to pick on him, but John refused to back down. It didn’t make things easier, but it kept Bakugo at bay—most of the time.

The classroom buzzed with the low murmur of excited voices as students shuffled in, their backpacks slung carelessly over their shoulders. The warm afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. John and Izuku walked in together, side by side, their quiet exchange carrying a sense of camaraderie that only deepened as the school years had gone on.

They didn’t say much as they took their seats, their backpacks thudding lightly against the floor as they settled. John placed his bag next to him, pulling out a small gadget he had been working on, his fingers already fiddling with it as his mind wandered. Beside him, Izuku opened his notebook, his fingers absentmindedly tracing over the pages, thinking about the endless possibilities before them.

Their teacher, a middle-aged man with glasses perched on his nose, stood at the front of the room, his eyes scanning the class. “Alright, class!” He called, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Before we get started, as you all know, you were asked to fill in these forms regarding your future, I’ve been asked by the principal to go through them with you today...” The man pauses for a second before flinging the sheets into the air. “But we know you all want to be heroes right!!!”

The classroom exploded into cheers and celebrations. From the back of the class, a loud voice was heard “None of you extras are gonna make it pro, so how about you shut up and stay in your lane.” His brash tone undermining every student in the room. It was none other than Bakugo, who sat in his usual spot in the back of the class, arms folded across his chest, a smug grin on his face.

The teacher nodded, smiling at him. “Very ambitious especially applying to UA, Bakugo. And you’re certainly one of the most powerful students here. I seem to remember two other students are looking to apply.” The teacher smiled sadistically at Izuku, knowing he had thrown Midoriya to the metaphorical wolves.

“Midoriya’s applying? Without a quirk he might as well give up. They won’t let him in with just a good theory test”

“I mean John has a chance but even then, I’ve only seen him use his quirk twice it’s not like it’s super powerful or anything.”

“He won’t be able to protect that quirkless freak during the tests either”

Bakugou voice once again cut through the noise. “You bastards, I’m the only one from this school good enough for a place like UA.”

John’s fingers paused on his gadget. His thoughts seemed to drift for a moment, his calm demeanour wavering. He didn’t raise his voice. Instead, he glanced at Izuku. He had gotten better at hiding his emotions, but was still a cry-baby a trait John admired in a way.

A devilish idea sprang to John’s mind.

John raised his hand slowly, his blue eyes steady. When the teacher nodded at him to allow him to speak, he straightened in his chair before standing. Light began to surround Bakugou’s chair. Within an instant the chair was gone leaving Bakugo, crashing to the floor. Laughter enveloped the classroom; it wasn’t soul crushing revenge but enough to satisfy John at the moment. Not to mention bruise the Pomeranians ego.

Humiliation tasted bitter on Bakugou tongue. As he strung o his feet hands popping. His eyes went red but John didn’t flinch. He wasn’t about to let Bakugo win.

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed, but before he could retaliate, the teacher clapped his hands sharply, cutting through the tension.

“Alright, let’s settle down, everyone,” he said, a hint of frustration in his tone. “John! The principal’s office now, you know quirk usage within the classroom is not allowed, not to mention illegal.” John exited the classroom without a word, knowing the price of rebellion.

Not long after, the bell rung signalling the end of the day.

As students began to funnel out of the class Izuku decided he was going to wait behind for John to return. Izuku continued to write in his journal, as always, deep in thought, his gaze occasionally flicking toward the door. That’s when he saw him. Bakugo. Izuku flinched at the sight of him. His breath hitched, and his hand instinctively tightened around the pen he was holding.

Bakugo’s lip curled into a Cheshire grin. His entourage of lackeys standing behind him, looking hungry for confrontation. Bakugo’s gaze was suffocating.

"Well, well, well." Bakugo spat, his voice dripping with disdain. His fists clenched at his sides, a faint glow sparking in his palm. “Seems little Deku forgot to keep his dog on his leash.” His lackeys chuckled at the image and began to surround his desk.
“Don’t you have anything better to do, Kacchan?” Izuku’s voice was quiet but firm, Bakugou smelt the fear.

Bakugo’s expression darkened. “When did you grow balls, huh? You really want to step up to me?” He raised his fist, the air around him crackling with the power of his Quirk. Before slamming down hard on the boy’s chest.
“Please—” was the only word he managed to wheeze out as his breath was snatched.

“Enough,” Bakugo shouted, stepping closer. His eyes met Izuku’s with an intensity that remained unmatched “You’re not going to be a hero Izuku. And you’re definitely not going to get to UA so withdraw your application.” He demanded before throwing another punch to Izuku’s stomach. “You are nothing but a failure, that tech freak hangs out with you because he’s stuck with you. Between you and me I think he could make it into UA but you’re holding him back just like you’ve would have done with me. If you cared about him, I mean really cared about him, you’d swan dive of the roof, so you weren’t such a liability anymore.”

Before he could wind up his third punch, one of his lackeys, a tall boy with messy brown hair, tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, Bakugo. Let’s just go. Pretty boy will be out any minute.”

Bakugo glared at his lackey, but after a long moment, he sneered and turned away. “Fine. Whatever.”

As Bakugo and his group stalked off, Izuku didn’t move, he didn’t know if he could. Normally he could handle Bakugo but was he right? Is he holding John back? Should he…the tears began to fall, his chest felt tight, as if something unseen was squeezing him from the inside out. It started small—a twinge of discomfort, something that might have been easy to ignore. But he couldn’t. His hands were cold, a fine sheen of sweat forming on his palms.

He tried to breathe. In. Out. But the air felt thick, sluggish, like it didn’t want to fill his lungs. Everything around him seemed to grow... bigger. The walls felt like they were closing in, pressing in from all sides. The world tilted, just slightly, and his vision blurred. The sounds of the classroom clock— the replay of every word said from Bakugou mouth, he couldn’t even focus anymore—. Every little noise made his skin prickle in alarm, his heart thudding faster.

“Izuku?” A voice cut through the noise, but it was distorted, distant. Like he was underwater, and the voice was a faint echo. “Izuku, are you alright?” He blinked hard, trying to focus. But his chest... it felt like there was a weight pressing down on it, heavy and suffocating. His breathing quickened, and he could feel the world spinning—just a little, but enough to make him nauseous.

He heard his own heartbeat, a frantic, chaotic sound that drowned everything else out. It hammered in his ears, faster and faster. His fingers were trembled. He grabbed his pencil hard, his knuckles turning white as he tried to steady himself, but it wasn’t helping. The tremors spread through his arms, his legs, up to his neck. His body felt wrong, like it wasn’t his own anymore.

"Izuku?" the voice was closer now, hands were on his shoulders, but it felt too close, like the world was closing in on him. He could feel the pressure building, pushing from all sides. The air was thick, he couldn’t breathe.

Why can’t I breathe?

Vision was wavering again, his hands continued to shake violently. He tried to move, to stand, but his legs felt like they were made of jelly, unsteady and weak beneath him. He was dizzy. He felt like he was about to fall.
"I... I can't—" His voice caught in his throat, the words suffocating before they could even leave his mouth. His eyes were wide, searching the room for something to anchor him, something real, but everything seemed so far away.
“Look at me,”. Izuku paused. It was Johns voice it sounded firm, pulling him from his panicked haze, his hands warm and reassuring on Izuku’s trembling arms. His voice was low, gentle, but there was something in it that cut through the static. Something steady.

Izuku felt his body trembling under John’s touch. “I can’t... I can’t breathe... I...”

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe with me. In... out...” John’s voice was soft, but persistent. His words somehow felt like an anchor, keeping him tethered to something real, something solid.

The seconds stretched on forever. He tried to focus on John’s face, the cool of his blue eyes, the way he was talking him through it, like he had done this before. Like he knew what to do.

Slowly, breaths came quicker, more frantic, then—after what felt like an eternity—he managed to draw in a shaky, uneven breath, his chest tightening painfully. He squeezed his eyes shut. His lungs felt full, too full, like they couldn’t release the air fast enough.
John didn’t stop. He stayed with him, guiding him through the breaths. “In... out... that’s it... you’re doing great.”

And after what felt like forever, the world began to narrow, his vision focusing again, the buzzing sounds dulling around the edges. The tightness in his chest started to ease, and the pressure on his ribs lessened, but it didn’t go away entirely. He felt drained, like the fight had taken everything out of him. His hands were still trembling, but the worst of it had passed. “I... I...” Izuku gasped, still struggling to catch his breath, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You’re okay,” John murmured, his hand still steady on his shoulder. “You’re okay.”

The words felt like a lifeline, even though the panic wasn’t really gone. It wasn’t over, not yet. He could still feel the edges of it lingering in the pit of his stomach, in the corners of his mind. But for now, John was there. And that, at least, felt real enough to hold onto.

The walk home was awkward to say the least. Together, they walked, the events of the day making each step heavier. As they exited through the gates of the school, John’s mind drifted back to the classroom seeing Izuku in that state made him feel sick. The pain he knew he felt, he needed to know what made it happen. Who needed to pay.

Izuku was quiet. He kept glancing at John out of the corner of his eye, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, his face unreadable. John understood, Izuku might be feeling embarrassed or tired. Panic attacks take a lot out of people. It wasn’t until they turned the corner near the park that Izuku spoke up, his voice quiet but steady.

“Kacchan’s right, you know.”

John’s head snapped up, the words breaking up his thoughts. He looked over at Izuku, who was staring straight ahead, his expression empty.
“What do you mean?” John asked, his voice guarded. “What did that bastard say?”

Izuku’s lips pressed together, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “He said I’m dragging you down... that I’m holding you back,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost like he was testing the words out. “And I... should throw myself of a roof…I can’t stop thinking about it.”

John’s blood began to boil. He had heard Bakugo’s taunts before, of course. The way he would go on and on about how weak Izuku was—about how a quirkless kid would never amount to anything. Hearing it from Izuku though... it was different. John opened his mouth to respond, but Izuku spoke again, his voice a little strained.

“I don’t want to keep being a burden on you,” Izuku said, stopping himself, like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. “I don’t want to drag you down with me. I know... I know we’re trying to be heroes, but... maybe it’s better if I stop getting in your way.”

John’s heart tightened in his chest, the words hitting harder than he’d anticipated. He could feel his breath catch in his throat, and for a moment, he just stood there, speechless. “Izuku, no,” he finally managed to say, his voice firm, though there was a hint of desperation. “That’s not—” He stopped, trying to find the right words, the ones that could break through the frustration building up inside him. “Look, you’re not holding me back. You’re not a burden. You’re my best friend, and if anyone's dragging us anyone down, it’s Bakugo with his dumb comments.”

Izuku shook his head, his eyes lowering. “It’s not just him, John... It’s... everything. The way people look at me. The way they treat me like I’m invisible. I keep trying, but it’s just so hard. Every time I fail, it feels like you’re carrying me. Like I’m just some extra weight you have to lug around.” He spoke quickly now, his words tumbling out like a dam that had finally cracked. “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me. I don’t want to hold you back from what you really want, especially when you’re... you're so much more than me. You’ve got your Quirk, your dreams. And I’ve got... nothing.”

John’s stomach twisted. He took a step toward Izuku, his voice softening, but it was too late. Izuku took a small step back, his face conflicted, like he wasn’t sure whether to pull away or get closer. “You’re got nothing, Izuku?” John said, his words more aggressive now. Frustration finally bubbling over. “The mom that shelters you, loves you and nurtures you, is she nothing? Huh?” He paused, trying to breathe through the lump in his throat. “So, I’M nothing to you? You don’t even know how lucky you really are, quirks aren’t everything Izuku, mine did a lot more pain that it healed, when will you get that through your thick skull, you are lucky!”

Izuku’s eyes were distant, his gaze unfocused. There was a long silence before he finally spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe it would be better if I walked alone for a bit.” His voice cracked slightly, and he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, looking away quickly.

“No,” John said firmly, though there was a tremor in his voice. “Don’t say that. Don’t... don’t walk away from me, Izuku. Do you know how much I’ve sacrificed for you?!”

Izuku’s movement grinded to a halt.

John’s breath hitched in his chest. That wasn’t what he meant. He would sacrifice his own life 100 times over to repay Izuku for what he had done. But he was being such a spoiled brat right now, right? He didn’t know how much lucky he was, the things John would do just for a day in Izuku’s shoes. If anything, he just wanted to show Izuku that there was no quitting, that it would be him and Izuku forever. John didn’t want to be alone again. John couldn’t be alone again.

“I’m sor…”

Before John could finish, Izuku sighed deeply, his body deflating “I didn’t know I was such a burden on you, I don’t want to be the reason you’re miserable, John. I don’t want to mess up your future.” His voice faltered.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Izuku’s gaze dropped to the ground, and then, slowly, he nodded.

“I need some space to figure things out, don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid, and you can still come over tomorrow for Katsudon.” Izuku smiled before turning and walking home.

John bit his lip, he understood. He could give Izuku that space, but he wouldn’t leave him behind.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he said simply, his voice calm yet lost.

Chapter Text

John’s workshop was as cluttered as his mind at the moment; tools and half-finished inventions scattered across every surface. The smell of metal and solder filled the small space.

The years had not been kind to John. For ten years, he had lived in a house that never felt like a home. His grandmother’s cold, veiny hands had shaped his life more than anyone else’s. Her presence, though quiet and unnerving, loomed large, her sharp words echoing in his head long after they were spoken. She had her own way of caring for him—if you could call it that. Her idea of discipline was something far more insidious than a slap on the wrist. It was the erosion of self-worth, a daily reminder that he was never good enough, that he would never bring back what he had taken away. John learned to cope with it. He hid his hurt behind walls of silence, retreating into his work. But the twisted scars left by years of emotional neglect—remained, festering just beneath the surface.

He’d known not to expect anything from the world.

John had learned to live with it.

He had no choice. The only light in his life, the one thing that had pulled him from the darkness of his childhood, had been Izuku. Izuku’s bright green eyes, his boundless optimism, and his courage—it was all so different from what John had come to expect. Izuku had always been the one who reached out to him, who didn’t let him retreat into his shell. He was the one person who made John feel seen, who made him feel like he wasn’t alone in the world, even when everything else seemed so pointless. It was that connection, that bond, that kept him going but John had to open his mouth and ruin everything.

For now, he sat hunched over his workbench, his quiet hum while tinkering with the legs of a robot, was suddenly interrupted by the obnoxious sound of the news alert blaring from the small TV in the corner of the room, John froze. His heart skipped a beat as the footage flickered onto the screen, the grainy footage showing a scene of chaos. A Villain wreaking havoc, buildings crumbling, smoke rising into the sky. People were screaming and running in every direction.

The villain looked massive. Large slime-like tentacles lashing out in every direction while his centre mass etched daggers into the crowd with its two-bowling ball sized eyes. It was a strange, there looked to be 4 heroes at the scene and yet they all stood there, unmoved. He noticed two more pairs of eyes within the slimes centre. “Ah” he realised, it was a hostage situation.

John stood and began to walk over to the TV to switch the channel. Before he could, John’s eyes locked onto something that made his stomach drop. Among the terrified crowd, there was a small figure moving against the wave of panicked people. The boy’s hair was unmistakable—a mess of green, wild and untamed, just like it had been when John had first met him all those years ago.

Izuku.

John’s breath caught in his throat. Izuku was running towards danger, rushing straight into the villain with no hesitation. He was heading straight toward the person trapped, someone who needed help. John knew—he knew that Izuku wasn’t going to wait for someone else to save them. He wasn’t going to just watch. He was going to act. Izuku was stupid. Izuku was always like that. Always putting others first, no matter the cost to himself. “No… Izuku, wait!” John whispered, his hands tightening into fists, the fear eating at him from the inside out. He was miles away, trapped in his workshop, behind walls of brick. He couldn’t reach him. He couldn’t stop him. And he could already feel the dread building in his chest as the situation escalated. The scene grew more intense. The villain was thrashing, throwing debris everywhere, and it was becoming more dire by the second. There he was Izuku Midoriya. Quickly he slipped under the makeshift barricade made by the heroes. Screams could be heard from heroes and civilians alike.

“What’s that boy doing”

“He’s gonna get himself killed”

“Somebody stop him!”

But nobody did. Izuku ran faster than John had ever seen before. His determination seemingly overpowering his physical capabilities. John was gripped to the screen. Temperature rising. Turning in anger before throwing a CPU at the wall at blistering speeds. It smashed against the wall.

“The heroes aren't moving! Move dammit.” John shouted, It was Izuku who had acted first, a kid willing to dive headfirst into the danger, reckless and brave. That’s what heroes were meant to be, that’s what heroes were meant to do not sit back and let a 14-year-old save the day. Cowards.

Suddenly the screen went black. “Wait, wait, no, no, NOOOO” John screamed. He didn’t know why but the screen was black. His breathing became heavy. What happened to Izuku? No, he couldn’t do this to him, he refused to be left alone. Not again. Johns mind was racing. The city was a 20-minute drive. He couldn’t make it deep down he knew he wouldn’t get there in time. That didn’t stop John. Every second thinking was a second wasted. Possessed, the garage door opened, and John began to sprint. “Please just hold on Izuku”.

John had been running for what felt like an eternity his legs screaming at him to give up. His mind telling him heroes had already saved the day so he should stop. But his heart, his damn heart ached, he knew he wasn’t letting his best friends life fall in the hands of those ‘Heroes’, those cowards, those damn bandits.

His heart hammered against his chest. Panic fuelling each step as he raced through the streets, weaving between lamp posts. His heart stopped at the sound of crying. The cries were familiar. Following his gut, he turned into the alleyway where the noise was coming from. He finally sees him. Izuku, standing in a shadowed alley, talking to a man with an almost skeletal frame. Even from a distance, John can feel the man’s presence was powerful and commanding.

The man’s voice is raspy but concise, his voice traveling down the empty alley: "Young man! You CAN become a HERO!"

John instinctively ducks behind a nearby wall, peeking around the corner. His hands curl around the cold brick as he listens intently, trying to catch every word. The man continues, speaking with a fervour that sends shivers down John’s spine: "You have the heart, Young Midoriya … all you need now is the power. My Quirk can be yours! I will give you what you need to become a hero!"

Izuku, eyes continued to cry, listening silently, nodding occasionally, though John can see the hope on his face. The words hang heavy in the night air—a chance to get a Quirk? That was impossible. Izuku was quirkless. It was simple as that. John felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Part of him wants to rush in, confront the mysterious man, demand answers, protect Izuku from whatever bargain is being offered. But he doesn’t, he didn’t know why he didn’t. Perhaps guided by fate or cruel circumstance.

John pressed himself closer to the cold brick wall, heart pounding as he listened to the faint echoes of the conversation. John can no longer make out the details.

Just snippets: Quirk, training, not ready, explode and Monday. That’s it. No further explanation, no clarity on what the Quirk will be, how dangerous it might be, or what exactly this training entails.

John steps back slightly, breathing unevenly. On the surface, he knows this is good news. Izuku has always dreamed of being a hero and now, he might have a chance to shine, to stand on his own against the world. And yet… a strange, sour feeling twists in John’s chest. Jealousy? Why did he feel like this? He tried to reason it out. Izuku had always been quirkless… now he gets a shortcut to power? Johns had been working, tinkering, training, honing Digi-struct, Izuku might get something John couldn't just by effort alone.

John had to lose so much to get to where he is and Izuku get to just skip all of that? More than that… the thought of Izuku growing beyond him, surpassing him, left a pit in his stomach.

No we are in this together.

He shakes his head, trying to push the feeling away. “No… I can’t be mad at him.” But the jealousy lingered at the edge of his mind. The man finished his instructions, and Izuku nods firmly, a fire in his eyes. As they part ways, John waited in the shadows, watching Izuku walk off into the night, unaware of his friend’s hidden gaze.

John trudged home, it had begun to rain. Water dripped from his hair and coat, his boots splashing in puddles as he walked. The rain had soaked him through, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was the warmth of his workshop and the solace of tinkering—anything to push the gnawing feelings aside.

Once he arrived at his house, he locked his door, shaking off any remanence of water. He couldn’t fall behind he couldn’t lose. He needed to be the best, and UA was the best there was. He needed a backup plan. Like, what if something was too big to deconstruct, what if he could be in more places at once. What if more blood was shed because his quirk just wasn’t good enough… Damn, he needed to take his mind off the world right now.

Looking through his blueprints, he landed on a design and once again hunched over his workbench. His fingers moving deftly, soldering, assembling, and adjusting, the familiar rhythm of invention eased his mind. Hours passed. Outside, the night stretched on, cold and silent, but John is lost in a world of his own creation. Piece by piece, it began to take shape: a robot, about five feet tall, an assortment of scrap metal moulded into something that he could call his own. Its limbs were designed to lift and carry objects with precision. With future applications in hero work and rescue drills. If this worked, John wouldn’t need to fight alone, he’d be able to fight without his quirk. However, this was only a prototype. A drop in what would be an ocean of his brilliance.

With a deep sign, John placed the power core into the centre of the loader.

There was hope.

Seconds passed, nothing.

Another failure.

His feelings soon caught up to him again. Crawling on his back, a weight he couldn’t carry.

He was usel…

Suddenly, came the sound of servo fans, bursting into life. A deep humming coming from the machine as lights began to cascade across the walls of the workshop. It was working! It was turning on! Next came the deep voice “L-O-A-D-E-R-B-O-T OPERATIONAL” Its claw like hands began to rotate. “INPUT REQUIRED” the voice boomed.

In a state of disbelief. John just stared, his hands trembling. Regaining composure, he commanded the loader to move a large engine in the corner of the workshop, he watched in awe as it moved for the first time, its mechanical arms coordinating smoothly, picking up the engine and placing it on his workbench with a thud.

Overwhelmed with joy, John ordered the Bot around the workshop placing, lifting and rotating any object he could find, laughing wildly as he did so. It wasn’t built for combat—not yet—but it looked reliable, consistent, and working.

A bulb lit in Johns head. He could make hundreds and have the streets cleaned in days. No more ‘heroes’ that are too scared to risk their lives. No more ‘Heroes’ that are too lazy to do community work. No more fake Heroes.

John leaned back, exhaustion pressing against him, but above the eyebags was a stern look of determination. For a few moments, the worries about Izuku, the jealousy, and the secrecy faded.

He was proud—this was his first real step towards his dream. “If you could see me now dad” he said, there was no sadness in his tone, simply a statement thrown to the wind.

Almost subconsciously, his thoughts drifted. Just a little thread in his mind, unravelled from his head to his heart as John whispered ‘Izuku… I hope you’re okay.’

Chapter Text

The next morning, sunlight filters through the cracks of John’s room, painting lines across his tired face. For the first time in a while, he felt… good. The loader stood like a sentry, gleaming faintly with promise. His body ached from exhaustion, while his heart pounds with ambition. UA is ten months away. He’d be ready. The days settle into a rhythm. Wake up. Train. Tinker. Test. Repeat. Weekends were supposed to be a break, but John didn’t know the meaning of the word. Every push-up, every lap, every adjustment to his loader was one step closer.

There was something missing.

Someone.

Izuku.

John never mentioned what he saw that day, he didn’t know how to.

They still talked at school, still shared moments sometimes about homework, sometimes about Bakugo’s latest taunt but outside those walls, Izuku slipped away. Every time John suggested hanging out, or playing games like, they used to, Izuku shook his head with that apologetic smile.

"Sorry, John. I’ve… got somewhere to be." John didn’t have to be a genius to know where he was going. That man. That offer. That secret Izuku refuses to share. It had been like this for a while now. John told himself it was fine. It wasn’t. He threw himself into his work, pushed himself harder in training, and scrawled new ideas into notebooks filled with grease stains and schematics. Deep down however, his feelings were festering.

Alone and abandoned.

This is how things were now.

The best thing John could do right now was bury it and focus on getting onto UA then they’d have to see him.

Izuku would see him.

Days turned to weeks, and John noticed how much bigger Izuku was getting. No longer did his clothes hang loose from his frame. His posture always upright and he didn’t flinch like he used to. He was changing quick. Sitting down for lunch Johns eyes become serious.

“How’s training going?”

Quickly Izuku face became red as he began to stutter. “Err…umm, what do you mean John? I’ve not been training.” A lie. Straight to his face. No hesitation.

“Don’t give me that Izuku, I can tell you look bigger” John stated. His eyes not leaving Izukus.

“Well, I’ve been working out a little bit but nothing serious you know just something to get me ready for UA” The way the lies poured started to cut through Johns stomach leaving him sick. Nothing serious? Really?

A false smile emerged from Johns face. “Good I was hoping to hear that, whatever your doing is working”

"Hey, I was wondering…" John began, his voice almost quiet, as if the words themselves were unsure. "There’s this diner near my place. It's nothing fancy, just a little local place, but I was thinking it’d be nice to just… talk for an hour, you know? Just get away from all the school stuff for a bit."

Izuku’s eyes widened slightly, his brows furrowing in surprise. “Uh…” Izuku hesitated, glancing down the hallway as if weighing the decision.

Another rejection.

“I mean…” Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little flustered. “I’d really like that. Just an hour, right?”

“Yeah?” John said shocked, offering a small, sheepish grin. “Just an hour. No pressure. We could just grab some food and talk, you know? Like we used to.”

“Yeah, sure. I’d like that. I’ll meet you after school?”

John’s grin widened, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Great. I'll be there around six? Oh, I have a new invention I can’t wait to tell you about." he said, his voice more confident now.

Izuku’s face lit up with a small but genuine smile. “Sounds good! I’ll see you there, then.”

The bell rang signalling the end of lunch.

John watched Izuku walk off, feeling a rush of warmth in his chest. For the first time in a while, it felt like things were shifting. Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as alone as he thought. Maybe he hadn’t lost him.
The rest of the afternoon felt like it stretched on forever. John could hardly focus during the last period, his mind drifting to the diner, to the small conversation they’d have. No expectations. No pressures. Just two friends hanging out, away from the weight of the world.

By the time the final bell rang, John was practically counting the seconds. He quickly grabbed his things, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. John couldn’t wait for the sense of normality to return.

5:45PM

The diner wasn’t far from his house—just a short walk down the street. Nothing special. It was warm and had a roof, what more did you need. Sure, it was rough around the edges, but the food was cheap. John would often sneak out, if his grandmother ever forgot to feed him which was more often than not.

John was in a booth near the window his notebook by his side ready to show Izuku. Sat nervously, his fingers began tapping against the table. He ordered two sodas, one for himself and one waiting patiently across the booth.
He checked the clock.

6:05PM

5 minutes late. That’s fine. Villains attack pretty often so who’s to say he hadn’t stopped off to document it in his hero journal. Or maybe Mrs Midoriya was dropping him off, traffic was always bad at this time.

John’s leg bounced nervously beneath the table, his fingers drumming against the side of the booth now. He tried to shake off the creeping sense of disappointment. Maybe something had come up. Maybe Izuku had just gotten caught up with something at home, or maybe—John tried to reason with himself—he had forgotten.

6:35PM

30 minutes had passed. The ice in Izuku’s soda has melted into watery syrup. John drummed his fingers harder, forcing himself to smile at the waitress when she glances his way.

He’ll come….

The feeling in his chest grew heavier with every passing minute. he told himself that it was fine. That Izuku was probably just busy. After all, he was always under pressure—studying for UA, trying to catch up on his physical training, dealing with everything on his own. John knew better than anyone what it was like to keep up appearances, to hide.

7:00PM

The diner’s chatter fades into background noise. John stared at the empty booth seat, his chest tightening with every passing minute. John presses his palms into the table, trembling. Did he forget? Or… did he choose not to come?
He pulled out his phone, checking for any messages. Nothing. Just the usual notifications. But no text from Izuku.

He glanced at the door again, hoping to see that familiar green-haired figure walk through it, but no one came.

8:00PM

Still no Izuku.

The diner was almost empty, for ten years, they had been each other’s only friend. And now, John feels like he’s watching Izuku slip further and further away into some world he’s not allowed to be a part of.

The bell above the door jingles. John doesn’t bother to look up—as a shadow fell over his table.

"Mind if I sit?"

The voice was smooth, charming. It wasn’t Izuku but instead a tall figure in a dark coat, John couldn’t seem to make out the face of the person opposite him, he could only see the strangers mouth baring a large grin. A faint smell of smoke surrounded the man.

“Be my guest” John responded as the man took a seat.

“You’ve been here for almost 2 hours” The man said, in a tone that sounded almost patronising. “Why?”

Had this man been watching him? He thought he would have noticed someone this big...John didn’t know what to say. “A friend of mine is running late is all.”

“Ahh, I see” The mans voice seemed to deepen. “What kind of friend leaves another waiting for so long? Doesn’t sound like a friend to me”

John leaned back in the booth, narrowing his eyes. The stranger’s smile didn’t falter—it only grows sharper under the weight of his silence. The air around them felt heavy, like the words themselves were pulled from Johns brain. He was right, no matter what it always seemed like John was making the sacrifices. That John was making plans. That John was being a good friend.

Not Izuku.

“What’s that?” The figure said pointing at his notebook “May I take a look?”

John shrugged handing the book over. “Just some ideas for the future, most of it is theory.”

The man reached out grabbing the book, being careful not to crease any page while he began to flick through.

“Impressive” The stranger spoke again "You’ve got talent, John. Ambition. And you’re wasting it being in someone else’s shadow. Tell me…" he leaned forward, eyes absent, "what if you had a chance to make these much more then theories?"

Johns heart stopped.

"I never told you, my name?” John whispered.

There was a pause.

“You didn’t?” The man smiled handing his book back to him “Must have been a lucky guess”

The stranger chuckled softly, as he tapped one finger against the table.

"I’m someone who keeps an eye on promising young men like yourself. Someone who can recognize when a person’s… underappreciated."

Their tone was almost playful, but every word felt deliberate.

"You’ve got a brilliant Quirk and a mind most people would kill for. But you’re overlooked. Ignored. Even by your so-called friend. You deserve better."

John’s didn’t like how quick he agreed with the words that came out of the strangers mouth.

"Why do you care?" John said hesitantly.

The stranger’s smile twists into something knowing. A card came from the strangers pocket and slowly slid across the table — A phone number on one side and on the other a strange insignia, an eye staring back at him.

"Because John… there are people out there who would give anything to see what you can really do. Don’t disappoint them.” he rose from the booth without waiting for John’s response, tipping their hat in mock respect.

"Think it over. Greatness doesn’t come to those who wait — it comes to those who take it."

The bell above the door jingles again as he left, vanishing into the rainy evening.

John sat there, staring at the card between his fingers. His head conflicted with fear and temptation.

The walk to his house felt like it went on forever. His head was replaying the conversation at the diner. The mans words were stern and yet they held so much truth it was undeniable. John was overlooked. John was underestimated, why? His quirk could make matter disappear and reappear in seconds, he was athletic and charming, he was a goddamn genius so why didn’t people treat him like a king. Why didn’t people treat him like they did Bakugo?! His thoughts swirled like a tornado.

Izuku — that was the reason. It was always Izuku.

"Fine. If that brat doesn’t have time for me, I’ll make time for myself. I’ll become so strong that no one can ignore me. Not even Izuku." Johns words felt like they were on fire.

10:00PM

Changes had to happen.

John arrived at his workshop and flipped a switch — the workshop hummed to life as John began drafting his newest invention. The Pulse Loader, in theory, bigger than his first prototype—standing about 7 feet tall, its frame reinforced with scavenged alloys and heavy plating while brandishing gauntlets that would allow the robot to shoot concentrated balls of energy. A War-Bot. He was so sick of playing defence if he wanted to be a hero he had to start fighting. His mind flicked back to the strangers words “it comes to those who take it." Tirelessly he worked through the night, welding sparks lighting up the darkened room.

4:00AM

His hands were blistered and singed but in front of him stood the bot, its empty shell finally completed. John wiped sweat from his brow, feeling the sandman clawing at his back as he booted up its core systems. The world seemed to stop. His breath hitched as he waited for any sign of life.

The metal eye glowed a familiar deep blue. "Pulse Loader… online," the machine announces in its metallic tone. John could cry, his amalgamation of spare parts had become something bigger. He smirked. “Perfect.”

The bot steps forward, movement slow, its servos whirring with a disgusting churn. John commanded it to pick up the large engine on the work top, the same engine that had been left untouched since the previous loader testing. It lifted it with ease almost toy like. Then came the real test: the shock gauntlets built into its wrists.

"Deploying pulse," the Loader declares. A sudden burst of electrical energy arcs outward, filling the air with a sharp crackle. Tools rattle on the benches, a few lights flicker, and John stumbles back with wide eyes.

"Holy—!" he blurts, shielding his face from the sparks. When the crackle dies down, the bot stood proudly, smoke rising from its wrists.

John laughs, exhilarated. “You work! The first real combat model…” The sense of accomplishment washes over him. He feels powerful, he was finally building the tools to stand among heroes—not just in Izuku’s shadow. Still, as he watches the bot stand idle, the thoughts creep in: if Izuku is training with someone powerful… he’ll be growing too. Faster. Stronger. He’ll have to push even harder to keep up.

John smelt burning, the Pulse Loader stood proudly for only a moment longer before John notices the flickering sparks building up in its chest cavity.

"Wait—no, no, no!" John shouts, rushing forward with a wrench. But it’s too late. The machine convulsed violently.

“The core must have overloaded meaning…” Johns sentence was left unfinished.

BOOM!

An explosion rattled the workshop as John was thrown backward, crashing against the metal garage door. Pain sears over his arms and shoulders as burns bloom across his skin, the acrid smell of scorched metal filling the air. Smoke rose from the ruined robot, its once-proud frame now a smouldering heap of twisted metal. John grinded his teeth, coughing, clutching his singed arm. “Damn it… it was too big …”

For a long moment, the defeat threatens to overwhelm him—but then, through the failure, inspiration struck.

"If I can’t stabilize the energy in something that size… what if I scaled it down? What if I made it something I can control directly?"

Dragging himself to his desk, John sketched feverishly, the burns on his skin stinging with every pen stroke. Instead of a towering bot, the design could shrink into something wearable: Gauntlets.

Compact enough to stabilize without overload and could be worn directly on John’s arms, perhaps he could channel the light caused by his quirk and have light energy shoot from the gauntlets? Would that even work? No matter, it of course meant the blasts would be more focused electrical bursts, not wide unstable discharges. He could work with that.

This is what he needed to beat Izuku.

8:00AM

Hours later, his arms blistered and his eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. It was complete. John finally strapped the gauntlets to his wrists. The energy felt stable, coursing evenly throughout the circuitry. He clenched a fist, and sparks danced harmlessly across his knuckles. Before recoil jolted his shoulder back and a surge of energy was shot across the room. A grin spreads across his face, even though the pain.

Chapter Text

The UA exam was tomorrow. The months leading up to the exam were used for training. His body, his mind and technique were all pushed to their limit for just a shot of getting into UA. A shot of being a hero. There wasn’t anything significate to note honestly, John got up early, trained, finished school, trained, tinkered and slept. Every single day. it had been lonely. He hadn’t spoken to Izuku for at least 9 months; he remembered the last time they spoke.

Izuku had caught up with John the day after the diner incident.

"John! About yesterday—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—after training I just—"

John didn’t let him finish. He didn’t look at him, and he didn’t stop walking.

"Save it. I get it. You’ve got more important things to do." Johns tone was slimy and cold.

Izuku’s words faltered. His hand hung in the air like he wanted to grab John’s shoulder, but he didn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t.

None of that mattered now. 1 day. That’s all I have left.

His destiny would be decided tomorrow. Judgement day.

The bell rung and school was over, quickly John exited the classroom not daring to acknowledge the pleading look on Izuku’s face. Instead, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and left, placing his hands into his pockets his fingers tracing a rectangular object. The card. He didn’t know why but John felt the need to carry it everywhere with him as a reminder that somebody saw his value even if it was that creep. The card felt like lead in John’s pocket as he walked the halls.

The distance between him and Izuku was obvious to his classmates. The two didn’t sit together at lunch anymore. They didn’t walk home together. They didn’t talk to each other. People whispered. Snickered. Yet nobody dared to speak it out loud except Bakugo of course.

John rounded the corner when he was face to face with the boy, leaning against a wall with a trademark smirk. His sharp eyes gleaming with amusement.

"So… you and Deku, huh? Finally gave up babysitting that quirkless loser?"

John didn’t answer right away, but Bakugo pressed, stepping closer.

"I always thought you were an idiot for hanging around him. You’ve actually got a Quirk worth something. But you wasted ten years dragging around dead weight." He tilted his head, grinning cruelly. "Tell me, do you feel stronger without him?"

The words cut deep, but John can see it: he was looking for a reaction.

Bakugo’s smirk widened, waiting for John to crack. But instead of shrinking back, John straightens, his blue eyes narrowing into a sharp glare.

"You know what, Bakugo?" John’s voice is steady, cold. "At least Izuku doesn’t need to blow himself up every five seconds to feel important." Bakugo’s grin faltered.

John stepped closer, not backing down.

"You act like you’re the king of the world, but I see you. You are a big fish in a tiny pond, just wait cupcake…I know deep down, you’re terrified someone else is gonna catch up and prove you’re not as special as you think."

Silence.

A spark crackles in Bakugo’s palm, his teeth gritting.

"Say that again, you piece of—"

For a moment, the hallway is silent except for the faint sizzle of Bakugo’s palm. His glare could burn a hole through John. With a growl, he pushed past John.

"Tch. Pathetic."

John exhales slowly, his fists unclenching. He defended Izuku. Even if things were strained, even if it hurt, Izuku was still his friend…Right?

The card in his pocket felt heavier than ever as he walked home.

It was the night before the UA Entrance Exam. The dim light from his desk lamp casting shadows across, unfinished projects and mechanical components. His focus was consumed entirely by the two gauntlets sitting before him on the desk.

The metallic sheen gleamed in the soft light. They’d become an extension of him, a reminder of every hour of training, every drop of sweat and blood, it’s all led up to this moment. Tomorrow is the test. Tomorrow, his dreams—his future—was on the line.
John flexed his fingers, watching the small, faint sparks of electricity flicker across the surface of the gauntlets. The energy pulsed and crackled, awaiting the signal to unleash its full potential.

John exhaled slowly, his fists clenching, feeling the weight of the gauntlets against his palms, the cool metal reassuring yet heavy. His fingers ran over the smooth metal, feeling the coldness of it, grounding himself. Every step had led him here. Every scar, every hour of agony, has shaped him into someone.

His mind drifted back to a simpler time. Back to when he was just a boy, sitting on the floor of his small house, playing with toys and dreaming of the future. Back to when he thought there would always be someone there to guide him, to protect him.
But that’s all gone now.

With a slow, deliberate motion, John opened his right palm pointing it at the Offline Loader Bot. A golden glow soon enveloped the bot before dissolving it from sight. Gone within seconds. Next came a notebook and some pens for the written portion, placed within his Digi-storage. That was everything, John thought before his eyes landed on something. He reached over and grabbed it. A small, faded picture of him and Izuku from years ago, the one taken on the day they first became friends. Izuku’s face was bright, full of hope and excitement. John’s own smile in the photo is small, shy, but real.

The picture disappeared with the same golden glow.

Everything was in its place, everything was prepared. He’d be ready. He had to be.

"Tomorrow…" he whispers again, this time with more conviction. "I’ll show them."

The morning air was crisp, charged with a nervous electricity as hundreds of hopefuls flooded towards UA High. The gates loomed challenging every student who steps through them to prove they belong. John adjusted the straps on his gauntlets beneath his jacket; his loader bot tucked away in Digi-struct storage. His heart boomed with determination and fear.

He pushed forward, ignoring the chatter and excitement around him, eyes locked on the massive building. Ten years of work. Ten years of being overlooked. Today I will make you proud.

"John!"

The voice froze him mid-step. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

Izuku.

For a moment, his chest tightened and he wanted nothing more than to turn around and hug his only friend. Pride forced his strides to continue, jaw set, pretending not to hear. If Izuku wanted to train in secret, if Izuku WANTED to leave John in the dark, fine. He didn’t need him and yet curiosity gnawed at him, just enough to make him glance back.

And there he was — Izuku, his 5’5 frame seemed more reinforced now. He looked considerably stronger with veins ever prevalent in his arms. Those emerald eyes still shined like no others could but that once timid glace was replaced with a fierce look of determination. He clearly didn’t expect John to turn around as suddenly he was tripping over his own feet in a panic. Those same eyes now wide as he flailed for balance. The ground rushing up at him. Izuku was about to crash face-first into the pavement, and the whole world seemed to freeze in anticipation.

But then—he was weightless. The ground stopped. His body jerked to a halt midair, as though an invisible force had caught him just before impact. His wide green eyes stared down, barely an inch from the unforgiving pavement.
A girl with short brown hair smiled brightly, her fingers pressed together. "I stopped you with my Quirk. Sorry, I just thought you looked like you were about to faceplant."

John blinks, brain sparking. Gravity quirk? Momentum manipulation? Telekinesis?

Izuku stammered out a thanks— his face burning red. The girl laughed softly, releasing him so he landed on his feet without injury. John watched for a moment longer transfixed on something, before turning away. Walking through the gates alone.

First came the written portion of the exam, it flew by in a blur. John’s pencil moved across the page almost on instinct, a blur of motion as his mind raced faster than his hand could keep up. Equations came easily to him, hero law was simple to solve, history was his weakest point. But it was all trivial compared to the months of brutal revision, the endless hours of exertion, the sleepless nights spent pushing to do better. This was just a formality, a hurdle to jump over. He was not here to impress on paper.

The clock ticked away. One question. Two. Three. And then he was done. The last page flipped over, and John realised a quiet exhale, his mind replaying his answers.

Finally, the loudspeaker boomed to life, cutting through the tension.

"All applicants, proceed to the auditorium!"

The voice echoed through the hall. The students, tense and stressed from the long exam, begin filing out in tight clusters, murmurs of excitement and nerves swirling. Some of them grinning with pure excitement; others were whispering in quiet panic. He wasn’t the only one here who had something to prove.

The auditorium was huge, its walls towering with rows upon rows of seats. John was assigned to a seat across the way from Izuku and Bakugo. On stage, a lanky man with spiky blond hair and orange shades. John could see this man was practically bouncing on his feet, legs wide as he beamed cheek to cheek.

"YOOO! YOOOO! YOOOOOOOO! LISTEN UP, LITTLE LISTENERS!" His voice boomed. A smirk tugs at the corner of Johns mouth. Finally, a hero in this place. “I AM PRESENT MIC, AND I’M HERE TO GET YOU READYYYYYYYYYY!”
The crowd was silent bar whispers and gasps and some students craning their necks to get a better look. “Is that really Present Mic? The radio host?” one student asks in awe. “He’s also a pro hero!”

John leaned back in his seat, arms folded across his chest, analysing. Not the words—though he listened carefully to the instructions but the reactions. He’d always been an observer, always preferred to take a step back, letting his eyes sift through the crowd, addressing every detail. Human nature was predictable. For example, it was predictable, who was here for their own glory and who’s here because they believed they could make a difference. He found himself glancing over at Izuku, who was scribbling franticly and muttering to himself. John couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath, guess some things never change.

“OKAY, LISTEN CLOSE!” Present Mic’s voice booming again, snapping John’s attention back to the stage. The pro raised his hand high, a massive screen behind him flickered to life, showing images of huge, robotic figures. A sinister countdown started ticking in the corner of the screen.

"Your practical exam will be a 10-minute free-for-all battle in mock city arenas!" Present Mic continues, his energy unwavering. "Each robot has a point value! Rack up as many points as you can to secure your place!” The screen zoomed into the smallest robot. “One-Pointers, these should be easy pickings for young heroes like yourselves!” The screen changed once again. “Next is the Two-Pointer, harder exteriors mean you really gotta hit ‘em hard!” The screen changed one last time.” Finally, Three-Pointers, the big guns!"

John’s eyes flicked over the screen, analysing the diagram, the models, the numbers. His mind’s already working, planning and calculating. What’s the real game? How much work did it take to take down a One-pointer? Was it more effective to take down thirty one-pointers or fifteen two pointers? Were three-pointers rarer than one-pointers or would there be equal numbers of all robots? John caught himself before he began murmuring. Yet he still heard it. Murmuring. Looking up once again, Izuku was deep in thought, his inner working became outer workings.

“May I ask a question?” a hand surfaced from under the sea of students.

The room fell into a charged silence as a boy rose from his seat, his posture rigid, every inch of him exuding confidence. His glasses caught the light, gaze sweeping. His voice rang out with sharp clarity. “On the printout, there are four types of villains listed. Is that a misprint? Because if so, U.A, the most prestigious school in Japan, should be ashamed of such a foolish mistake! The reason we examinees are here,” he continues, his voice gaining momentum, “is because we wish to be moulded into exemplary heroes! It is unacceptable to find such glaring errors on something so important!”

“In addition, you over there with the curly hair—” He pauses, before glaring at Izuku. “You’ve been muttering this whole time. It’s distracting!”

Izuku, jumped before immediately going silent, the entire room now focusing on him. Laughs spread throughout the crowd. John didn’t laugh.

“If this boy is here on a pleasure trip, then he should leave immediately!” The boy iterated to the pro.

Present Mic froze for a moment; the entire auditorium held in an awkward tension as the crowd waits for his response. He adjusts his shades, looking with a mixture of surprise and amusement.
“I assure you this is no mistake lil listener!” he said pointing to his printout.

The screen shifted, and John’s heart skipped a beat. The new figure that appears on the screen was unlike anything he had seen before: a towering, dark robot with a hulking frame.

"THIS bad boy?" Present Mic’s voice drops, almost serious for the first time. "Is the Zero-Point Villain. That’s right this one is worth zero points.”

Another wave of murmurs rippled throughout the crowd.

John tilts his head, eyes narrowing.

Zero points. Then why include it?

He leaned back in his chair, tuning out the chatter around him. It doesn’t make sense on paper. A school like U.A. doesn’t waste resources building something that’s meaningless. Every had a purpose behind it. A lesson.
John’s fingers tap against his knee, his mind already dissecting it like a puzzle.

“That guy's an obstacle, so to speak. Sometimes a villain is too strong and the best thing a hero can do is disengage. I repeat it’s an obstacle, not a target! Don’t waste time trying to take it down!" Mic continued.
They’re not testing power. Are they testing adaptability?

He watches the kids around him — some wide-eyed, others whispering anxiously about how they’ll be able to rack up points.

They completely missed it.

Real fights didn't come with scoreboards.

John just smirked faintly, had he figured it out? The zero-pointer was perhaps a trap for the arrogant? His eyes narrowing in on Katsuki Bakugou.

It makes sense

His glance shifted up at the flickering hologram of the robot.

“If it’s on the field,” he whispers, almost to himself, “then it’s part of the game. Even if they say it’s not.”

John exhales quietly through his nose. “Zero-point,” he mutters to himself. “Right. So, the real question isn’t how to beat it… it’s when to act.”

Present Mic finished by clapping his hands together, shaking the tension out of the room. “Now each of you will be placed in a random arena! Get those gears turning, future heroes, ‘cause your time to shine is NOW!”

The lights dim. The auditorium goes quiet. The students on edge now, the quiet murmurs turning into anticipation. This is it. This is the moment everyone had been waiting for.
Ten months of sweat. Ten years of ambition. All building to this.

This would be his Hero Academia.

Chapter Text

The examinees were placed into their assigned arenas—massive mock cities with large steel gates. The waiting area was buzzing with tension: kids stretched nervously, while others bragged about their Quirks, some went deathly quiet. John kept to himself, leaning against the wall with his hands tucked in his jacket pockets. His gauntlets hummed faintly under the sleeves, ready but hidden. His eyes scanned the crowd.

Across the way, his eyes found Izuku, fidgeting with his hands, muttering to himself while sneaking nervous glances at the brown-haired girl from earlier. A girl would normally slip past his notice — just another face. Not this time.

John glanced over without meaning to.

There she was...

The warm, chestnut hair that curled slightly at the ends, bouncing gently with each step. Her eyes wide, soft, and the colour of melted honey, she held something the others didn’t, he couldn’t explain it. In a room full of nerves and ambition, she glowed. Her cheeks were faintly pink, her expression open and unguarded, as though she had nothing to hide.

He caught himself staring. His pulse stumbled once, awkwardly…What is that?

A green bush of hair soon entered Johns view. Was he talking to her? A small smile tugged at her lips as she gestures animatedly. There’s a faint dusting of freckles across her nose — not unlike Izuku’s — and her uniform doesn’t sit perfectly neat; her tie’s a little crooked, her sleeves slightly rolled. Somehow that only highlighted her beauty.

Beauty? Did I say beauty? John blinks, realizing his hands had stilled inside his pockets.

For all his analytical precision — the way he dissected every face, every tone, every variable. He couldn't quantify her.

She didn't fit any of his patterns.

There’s a warmth in his chest, he couldn’t identify, something that made his throat tighten. She turned and their eyes nearly met. For a heartbeat, he swears she looked right at him — curious, gentle — before turning away again, completely unaware of the quiet earthquake she’s just started.

John exhaled slowly, glancing down at his gauntlets. They suddenly felt heavier, clunkier, ridiculous in their intensity.

He’d faced bullies, monsters, his grandmother— but this? This flutter in his chest? It was so foreign. Disarming.

He looked up once more, unable to help himself.

The crowd was just a blur now, and all he saw was her.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath. “Guess I’ve finally gone soft.”

"Excuse me!"

The words grabed John’s attention. A tall boy with sharp features and glasses steps up— the same boy from the auditorium. His posture perfect, his voice crisp and commanding.

"You there," Iida says, pointing at Izuku. "Stop distracting people! This is a serious exam, not the place to lose focus."

Izuku froze like a deer in headlights.

Iida’s words hang heavy in the air; his finger still pointed accusingly at Izuku. The poor boy stuttered, trying to apologize, his voice cracking under the gravity that was the blue haired boy.

That’s when John steps forward.

"Hey, Glasses." Iida blinks, lowering his hand slightly as John walked closer, his eyes defined.

"You ever hear of nerves? You know, the thing people feel before the biggest test of their lives?" John smirked, tilting his head. "Not everyone’s built like a stopwatch with legs. So how about you back off?"

A ripple of laughter and whispers pass through the examinees nearby. Iida stiffened, face turning red.

"I—I am simply trying to maintain the seriousness of this examination! We cannot afford to be distracted—"

"Right, right," John cuts him off with a wave of his hand. "But if you’ve got time to lecture others, maybe you’re the one who’s distracted. Worry less about him and more about not tripping over the stick in your ass."

Iida sputtered, clearly flustered, but before he can snap back, the alarm blares. The steel gates began to rumble.

Present Mic’s voice explodes over the loudspeakers "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! GO, GO, GO!"

The crowd bursts forward.

John throws one last glance at Izuku—his old friend looks at him with eyes filled with gratitude. John winked. Then he turned, expression hardening. This isn’t about Izuku. Not anymore.

The mock city sprawled out ahead, a labyrinth of concrete. The cracked streets snaked in and out of hollow skyscrapers and empty storefronts, every window reflecting back a distorted version of himself. A copy of John that wasn’t quite him and then, with a mechanical roar, the robots awoke.

A chorus of metallic whirs and grinding flooded the streets. Their footsteps clanked against the pavement — heavy, rhythmic and intimidating.

John turned the corner quickly looking to acquire his first points in the exam.

He was not disappointed as four One-Point models stared John down. Humanoid but crude, with rusted joints and glowing red sensors for eyes. Their movement looked stiff with arms mimicking blunt battering rams.
John didn’t wait for someone else to take his opportunity.

He was already moving.

His boots pounded the ground as his gauntlets came to life. The first One-Pointer swivelled toward him, letting out a robotic screech — but before it could lunge, John’s left arm snaps forward. A flash of blue erupts from his knuckles; a shimmering ball of energy pierced through the bot’s chest. It convulses once, sparks bursting, before collapsing its lights dim to a dull crimson.

“That was easy,” John muttered.

His job wasn’t done.

Another One-Pointer charged, arms raised, but John was prepared, however. His gauntlet pulsed once again shooting that same ball, this time through the skull of the humanoid. He spun, redirecting his focus, homing in on the two robots across the street. Unphased by the obliteration of their comrades they rush, this time in a pair.

Shit

His gauntlets circuits glowed blue as the energy condensed. He twisted his wrist, angling for trajectory, and fired. The sphere of compressed energy tore through the air, puncturing straight through the right robot’s arm. Sparks burst outward like fireworks before the machine marched on.

Both one-pointers, continued their charge, sounding heavier when moving in unison. Their armour plating gleamed under the artificial light of the fake city, each step sending tremors through the cracked asphalt. John’s looked for any opportunity.
There His eyes locked onto the absent arm of the one pointer.

The bot’s stabilizer vent was located on the arm, a fact John memorised from the information sheet, the right bot had nothing to regulate its pressure meaning… its core was overheating. He could make this work, but he needed more.

John darted sideways, sliding behind a half-demolished car as one of the robots swung wide. The metal ram collided with the vehicle instead, the impact slamming into Johns back. Popping out from the opposite side, he continued to run before stopping. In front of him stood four more robots bigger, bulkier and faster. These were two-pointers. Their heads swivelled as they scanned for targets. Hydraulic pistons hissed with each step; eyes now locked with Johns. He was surrounded. Face to face with 8 points ready to kill him and his escape blocked by a one-pointer and a gambit.

Perfect

High above the city, the observation deck buzzed with quiet conversation. Monitors lined the wall, each screen showing a different arena. Teachers and pro heroes leaned forward in their seats, some taking notes, others simply watching in silence.
“Examinee number 1427,” murmured one of the observers, tapping a stylus against the data tablet. “John Hyperion. Background — orphaned, top percentile in written. Quirk: ‘Digi-Struct.’ Limited data on field use.”

Present Mic whistled low, his voice carrying even in the subdued room. “Digi-Struct, huh? Sounds flashy!”

A dishevelled man spoke next, half-slouched in his chair, eyes unmoved from the screen. “Flashy doesn’t pass the exam,” he muttered.

“I didn’t know you was such a party pooper, Shota.” Present Mic pouted.

“You didn’t?” the reply came from a short, skinny man with a youthful appearance despite his advanced age. Spiky ginger hair, reaching just past his shoulders. His arms appeared disproportional to his small frame.

“MAIJIMA! Don’t be so mean!” Present Mic shouted in a hushed tone.

The next voice was small yet authoritarian. “Hmm, may we zoom in on examinee 1427”

The feed sharpened upon the rodents request and all eyes turned to John.

The boy darted across a broken intersection, movements deliberate and sharp, his boots scraping against the concrete as two One-Pointer robots gave chase. His gauntlets glowed in measured pulses, like a heartbeat synced to thought.
“DAMN! That lil listener is surrounded”

“His quirk may make a 2v1 difficult, perhaps it’s better to disqualify him before he gets hurt”

“Hmm, yes it appears so…” That same small voice let out a giggle. “Any objections?”

The room felt silent. Everyone’s eyes fixated on the small creature. Nearly everyone’s.

“Principle Nezu, Wait.”

“So Powerloader” The principles smile was now cheshire like. “Do you see it too?”

On-screen, John moved once more, using a half-destroyed car for cover. A metallic ram came down, smashing through the hood, the shockwave throwing him forward. Smoke billowed. For a tense second, he was gone from view.

“Is he—?” A feminine voice seemed to begin, her eyes narrowing onto the screen.

The smoke parted. John was still sprinting, weaving between debris with calm precision before stopping in his tracks. The camera panned wide, showing what he saw: four Two-Pointers approaching from the opposite end of the street, their massive silhouettes blocking every exit.

“That’s eight points’ worth of metal about to dogpile him,” Present Mic muttered. “Kid’s boxed in.”

Shota’s eyes narrowed in recognition. “He’s herding them.”

On the monitor, John came to a stop in the centre of the street. The one armed One-Pointer stumbled behind him, his right side glowing brighter, steam jetting from its neck. The other five bots locked onto him, mechanical limbs shifting as they prepared to strike.

Then John smiled.

Small but knowing.

“Perfect,” his lips mouthed silently on the feed.

Both hands extended, energy swirling between his knuckles. The robots were closing in rapidly.

“Woah! You’ve gotta call them off Nezu,” Present Mic shouted breaking the quite tension that lingered in the viewing deck.

“DON’T!” Shota’s voice combined with Powerloader as they yelled in union.

“Seems I’ve been outvoted” The principles laughed. “I do like a good puzzle”

All three staff members shared a devilish smile.

John ran into the centre of the ruined street, chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. The city block around him was a warzone. Dust drifted lazily from the upper floors of a broken apartment, catching stray beams of sunlight in the smoky air.
But there was no time to admire the destruction.

Four hulking Two-Pointer robots advanced from the north end of the street, their frames blotting out the narrow path behind them. Hydraulics pumped in steady, predatory rhythm, each step making the pavement shudder and from the south, another threat lumbered forward, two One-Pointer, one half-destroyed from earlier combat, servomotors screeching with every movement. Sparks popped from its joints, the stabilizer vent glowing an unhealthy, pulsing red.

John’s eyes flicked between the machines.

Six robots.

Ten total points.

No escape route.

One stupid Idea.

His gauntlets hummed, gathering light between the plates of metal like a forming star. His stance shifted, lowering, grounding himself as the machines closed in.

The Two-Pointers—clustered together, predictable in their charge pattern.

A One-Pointer—overheating, unstable, seconds away from catastrophic vent failure.

The blast radius would be wide enough if triggered correctly.

John raised his hands, energy swirling between his knuckles.

The heat coming off the damaged One-Pointer was rising fast. John could feel it even from several meters away, a prickling wave against his skin. The vent pulsed brighter with each staggered step, cycling from orange to a near-blinding white. One more minute and it would blow on its own.

The Two-Pointers thundered toward him. Ten meters. John held his ground, resisting the instinctual urge to fire early. Hold. Not yet. The timing had to be perfect, one second too soon and the explosion wouldn’t catch all targets; one second too late and he'd be crushed beneath them.

He inhaled once, slow and steady.

Eight meters.

Six meters.

Five meters.

Fo…

The One-Pointer’s vent flared violently.

Now.

The concentrated blast of Digi-Struct energy struck the vent. A deafening hiss turned into a shriek of pressure.

The result was immediate.

The One-Pointer’s arm exploded, a violent bloom of molten metal and kinetic shockwave that tore across the street. The blast rolled through the air, catching the advancing Two-Pointers and one pointer square in their chests. They went down instantly, bodies crumpling under the concussive force. The other pair staggered, Armor fracturing, systems flickering.

John was not left untouched. It was evident small pieces of shrapnel embedded themselves into the soft skin of the young man. Blood began to pour. His blood. He needed medical.

No…I can’t faulter. Not when I’m so close.

Without hesitate. He surged forward through the haze, with a scream before realising two more well placed shots to the neck of both remaining two-pointers, sparks cascading down their sides. They had fallen.

Only John stood in the aftermath, breathing hard, surrounded by the smoking wreckage of points. His eyes flicked up, scanning for the next challenge.

In the observation deck, no one spoke for a long moment. The screen still flickered with dust and residual flame.

“WHATTTTTTTTTTTTT” Present Mic screamed.

Finally, Power Loader exhaled. “The kiddo used the bot’s own overheating system as a catalyst,” he said slowly, half in disbelief. “He turned it into an advantage. That’s… advanced-level thinking.”

Aizawa just grunted. “Calculated, confident, and not a hint of panic.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

“I must admit it took me a second to see his plan” Neze spoke softly. “ With a 5% chance of success I wouldn’t have personally gambled on it, no surprise he scored high on the written portion, he’s smart on and off the battlefield.”

I want him. Powerloader and Aizawa thought in unison.

John was already moving.

BOOM.

He sprinted through the smoke; eyes locked on the next cluster of robots down the block. His boots skidded across cracked pavement.

A Two-Pointer stomped past.

John flicked his wrist and launched a ball of energy.

CLANG—SPARK—CRASH.

Piercing the bot’s knee joint; it buckled and collapsed, sparking violently.

Two more points.

He didn’t stop.

When had he last breathed?

Had he blinked?

A One-Pointer emerged from an alley, claws extended.

John vaulted over a fallen streetlamp, twisted midair, and out reached his hand. The lamppost glowed yellow. Before disassembling and reassembling above the One-pointer.

He brought it down.

The One-Pointer was skewered.

One point.

That had to hurt.

As he landed, he was already scanning for the next target.

Three more bots rounded the corner.

One-Pointers — simple models with predictable patterns.

John grinned.

Locking on.

Then firing both gauntlets simultaneously.

The balls collided in front of the three robots before folding into each other… BOOM.

The three heads popped like cans.

Three Points.

A Two-Pointer charged from behind—

John didn’t even turn around. His face pinkish red from his own blood. This was the most he had felt alive in a long time.

He snapped his arm forward, dissolving some concrete between him and his foe. The robot dropped about a meter its wheels stuck, arms flailing.
John whispered, “Goodbye.”

A quick pulse.

BOOM.

Two Points.

He exhaled, steady, allowing his adrenaline to sharpen rather than cloud his focus.

“Alright,” he murmurs under his breath, gaze lifting toward the sound of grinding metal in the distance.

Another Robot?

This robot was much bigger than any John had seen before, a Three-Pointer, bearing down on another examinee. A tallish boy with a birdlike head and feathers dark as night. He looked familiar somehow.

The 3-Pointer towered, a monstrosity of metal. Its face is a twisted interpretation of a human skull, with three glaring lenses arranged in a triangle, each glowing with cold, red light. The machine’s frame groans with the weight of its own power, exhaust vents hissing like a dragon’s breath. Hydraulic arms shift and lock with a sharp clank, and the beast lets out a guttural, electronic roar that rattled nearby windows.

The boy was frozen in place.

Tokoyami wasn’t here for fame or applause.

He wasn’t here because he craved attention.

His reasons were simpler.

He sought mastery.

Mastery over the darkness within him. Mastery over a Quirk powerful enough to protect… or to destroy.

He believed U.A. was the one place where he could learn to wield Dark Shadow not as a burden, but as a blade.

So, here he was.

Not to shine under the spotlight…but to prove that even those born of darkness could walk the path of a hero.

And yet, here he was seconds away from being roadkill. He had been caught off guard while fighting a One-pointer. Normally Dark Shadow would have made easy work of these robots, but someone had been creating explosions of light throughout the mock city leaving Dark Shadow weakened.

He stumbled back, legs giving out beneath him.

The Three-Pointer raised one colossal arm, claws glowing with charging energy.

Forgive me Dark Shadow.

The words were barely formulated before a circular glyph of golden light appeared in front of him, what is this?

The Three-Pointer brought down its massive right arm.

KRAAANG!

Something landed with a seismic THUD in front of him.

He waited for the jolt of pain, but none came. As he opened his eyes, he saw a robot. This one was different from the exams however, its design looked more compact. Rustic yet modern.

“Protect the examinee!” came a stern voice.

Whose quirk is this?

The Bot had caught the blow with both hands, metal screeching against metal as sparks flew. Its legs dug trenches into the pavement, straining but holding firm.
Maybe I should…who’s that?

A boy darted to his left, sliding under a collapsed traffic light, his wrists glowing blue. Covered in blood.

“Come on… open up…” the boy shouted.

The Three-Pointer heaved, trying to drive its claw through his new robotic guard. The sheer weight of the Three-pointer looked to be overpowering the small bot.

“DARK SHADOW!”

“Come on — come on…open up.” John began to sound desperate. He needed to wait till it revealed it’s vent so he could blast that thing back to where it came from. This wasn’t about just him anymore, someone else was relying on him. “He just needed more time... shit”

He didn’t have any more time, as the robots left hand was raised ready to swipe Loader Bot.

“Shit, it’s a miracle he caught one arm never mind two.” John said quickly as he began to turn back. “The best thing I can do right now is get that bird boy as far…”

“DARK SHADOW”

John skidded to a halt as the arm swung down with force. Only to be stopped by the unimaginable.

A shadow—not cast by anything, not attached to anything as far as he could see. It wasn’t smoke. It wasn’t energy. It was alive. Two glowing violet eyes snapped open, locking onto the Three-Pointer with predatory intent, its talons curling like something pulled straight out of a nightmare.

John’s breath hitched.

What the hell is that?

Before he could even form a strategy, the shadow creature lunged, pushing back the Three-Pointer’s descending arm. At the same moment, John’s Loader Bot barrelled forward, metal feet carving tracks in the floor. Steel fingers clamped down. Dark claws wrapped around the plating like living ink.

The sound God, the sound.

Screeching metal. Roaring steam. That shadow thing squawking like a wounded animal.

John watched, stunned.

It’s a Quirk… it has to be, John thought, pulse thundering.

That’s someone’s Quirk? It’s like a creature, an actual monster.

John swallowed hard, awe and fear mixing in equal measure.

No time to dwell.

He raised his gauntlets, ready to finish the fight because shadow monster or not, the clock was still ticking.

“Vent system… side panel… bingo.”

A concentrated blast of energy struck the Three-Pointer directly in its secondary coolant vent.

The metal glowed, warped then blew outward like its predecessor before him. The robot staggered, lenses flickering wildly as it swayed, off-balance.

“Loader Bot — finish it!” “Dark Shadow — finish it!”

Loader Bot shifted weight, hydraulics compressing before it threw a devastating uppercut straight into the Three-Pointer’s chest. The impact rippled through the metal titan, fracturing armour. The second blow came from Dark Shadow as its claws crushed the remnants.

FWOOOOM—KRRRRSH!

The Three-Pointer collapsed backward like a falling tower its lenses dimmed to black.

...

“You good?” John asked.

Tokoyami stepped forward, expression unreadable… yet undeniably impressed.

“You fight with precision,” he said, voice resonating with calm respect. “And great intuition. Dark Shadow would approve.”

“I’m guessing that monster was Dark Shadow?” John smirked. “I’m just glad I got to you before it squashed you.”

Tokoyami allowed the faintest nod.

John recalled his Loader Bot to his side, broken and unusable now.

“L-O-A-D-E-R B-O-T appreciates shadow bird” Loader Bot articulated, his language ai wasn’t perfect but it was there.

The bird once again reappeared his form smaller.

Almost cute. John thought.

“Not too bad yourself, tin pot” The shadow spoke…THE SHADOW SPOKE?

Before John could question any further, a larger shadow loomed overhead.

Chapter Text

A countdown timer flickered on the display board overhead: 2:07 remaining. The ruined street had barely settled smoke drifted higher into the air while the sound of electricity crackled from severed cables before the ground trembled once again.

No longer a vibration but instead a deep, tectonic shudder that rattled John’s teeth.

John and Tokoyami turned as a shadow fell across the mock city.

The Zero-Pointer

It loomed higher than any skyline, easily twenty stories tall, dwarfing every building in the arena. Its blank, circular “face” glowed with a cold red eye, sweeping across the battlefield like a searchlight. Its treads compacting anything placed under them.

Examinees were screaming, sprinting for cover.

“Zero points,” Tokoyami muttered, feathers ruffling with tension. His voice remained calm, but the tremor in Dark Shadow’s form betrayed him.

“Charging would be foolish.” The boy said before turning to retreat.

No

John didn’t agree with that.

If it’s on the field, then it’s part of the game. Even if they say it’s not.

John exhaled quietly through his nose.

“Zero points” his voice a whisper.

“This is when to act!” he declared with fierce determination before pushing off the ground, sprinting straight toward the Zero-Pointer. The thunder of the robot’s footsteps drowned out Tokoyami's yell to return to safety. John’s focus sharpened calculations, pressure points, load-bearing supports. Every part of his brain shifting into overdrive.

If I took this thing down, they'd have to let me in.

They’d…

“H-HELP!” a scream rippled throughout the battlefield. “H-help! Somebody… please!” the voice was small.

Somebody was hurt?

Suddenly the test meant nothing.

John whirled around before his blood ran cold at the sight.

The brown-haired girl from this morning was trapped. She lied half-buried beneath a collapsed section of concrete and metal; dust smeared across her cheeks. One leg, pinned down at an awkward angle under a chunk of rubble twice her size. Her fingers stretch and clawed desperately at the debris while tears spilled down her round, rosy face, paving streaks through the dirt.

Her breaths came in sharp, frightened hiccups. Her lips trembled. Eyes—wide, shining, full of fear.

Despite all this, she looked angelic.

The Zero-Pointer’s shadow fell over her like a moving nightfall.

John’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. Adrenaline spiking. But he didn't move. For a second he can only stare.

Why her?

Everything hits him at once.

This girl was everything he wasn’t. She seemed sweet and innocent perhaps naïve. Like the world had left her to blossom and prosper, untouched by cruelty of life.

And now she’s going to be crushed.

A hot, shaking breath rushed out of him. He felt something rise in his chest. Fear. Anger. Purpose.

All twisting together it the pit of his stomach.

Move, John. Move!

But his legs didn’t obey, and his thoughts began to spiral:

Run… If I run now, what am I? Another bystander? Another coward hiding behind excuses? Another kid with wasted potential?

He bit down hard, his jaw trembling.

No. Not again. Not this time.

He forced himself to breathe. Deep. Steady. He felt the trembling in his fingers fade with his heartbeat slowing.

You have a Quirk. You have tools. You have a chance to save her.

His fists clenched.

Do something. Mean something. BE SOMETHING.

The air around him seems to tighten as his resolve hardened.

His right foot stepped forward. 

“I’m going to save her,” he whispers to himself, voice shaking.

He launched forward—then

WHOOSH!

A blur of green speeds past him.

The shape sharpened into a boy.

Izuku...? 

Except… not the Izuku he knew.

This boy looked confident. Focused. Wild with purpose. His face was carved with determination, jaw clenched, eyes blazing like twin emerald flames. His body rockets upward with a velocity no quirkless kid should have.

John’s eyes go wide as Izuku launched himself off the ground. His brain, trained after years of analysis and tinkering, fired off theories faster than he can consciously process them. Enhanced musculature? It would explain the muscle increase but not that jump. Some kind of kinetic boost? No visible activation marks. A propulsion quirk? But there’s no exhaust, he’s glowing, but the glow is electrical looking. Izuku’s body shouldn’t be able to withstand that acceleration; the human skeleton would snap under that pressure. Then how is he—?. There’s no logical explanation, no rule, no science that fits what he’s seeing. What the hell is happening? His thoughts collided violently as Izuku’s arm drew back.

“DEEEETROIT… SMAAAAAASH!!!”

The world erupted.

The sound hits first, a crack like thunder being born inside a cannon. The air rippled, shockwave slamming into John’s chest hard enough to steal his breath. Dust blasts into his mouth, tasting like chalk and metal. A hot wind slaps his face, stinging his eyes. The ground trembled violently. The Zero-Pointer’s head dented inward from the impact. The giant topples, its crash sending a wave of smoke, oil, and burning circuitry through the street. The smell is heavy— scorched wires and hot asphalt.

John froze.

His pulse drummed painfully in his ears. Vision tunnelled. breath stuttered.

Izuku has a Quirk, he knew that but seeing it felt different felt wrong.

He—he’s… stronger than me? Just like that? Behind me for years… and now… this? His chest constricted, a tight, breathless pressure he can’t swallow down.

The girl was saved lifted effortlessly by her own quirk as the shockwave tossed the rubble aside. She floated upward in a gentle arc, unharmed, freed from what would’ve crushed her moments ago.

Izuku soon began to plummet from the sky, his body limp, momentum dragging him toward the cracked pavement until a soft gasp cut through the chaos. The girl reached out with trembling fingers, her Quirk activating in a gentle pink shimmer that wraps around him like a blanket. Izuku’s fall slows instantly, his limp form drifting instead of crashing. She pulls him close, steadying him with both arms as he hit the ground weightlessly. Her eyes shining with relief, eyes fixed on him alone, like the rest of the ruined city didn’t exist. Like he didn’t exist.

That should’ve been my moment.

My rescue. My chance to matter.

Instead, I’m here, alone.

While she holds him.

WHILE HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW IM HERE!

The jealousy burnt hot and sharp, lodging behind his ribs like shrapnel he couldn't remove.

I was ready.

I chose to act.

I was going to be the goddamn hero!

That…That…BANDIT!

Rage flooded his vision.

The world didn’t wait for him. It never did.

He stared at Izuku. He couldn’t look away…

Wait how many points do I …

A air horn rang out, the exam was over.

The exam grounds were in chaos as the sirens wind down. Smoke rolled low across shattered pavement, mingling with the buzz of anxious voices. Dozens of students gathered around Izuku, forming a loose circle. Their faces flushed with adrenaline, eyes bright with awe.

“Did you see that?!”

“He obliterated the Zero-Pointer!”

“He saved her life—like it was nothing!”

“What kind of quirk is that?!”

John stood on the outer edge of the crowd. His fists remained hidden inside his jacket pockets, knuckles white, blue eyes hollow.

For ten long years, Izuku had been quirkless.

His only friend.

The one who leaned on him, trusted him, needed him.

Not anymore.

A small old woman waddled past John with medical bots skittering beside her, and soon Izuku was loaded onto a stretcher broken, battered, yet triumphant.

The students continued buzzing even as they disappeared past the exam gates.

Slowly, the crowd thinned. Groups scattered, celebrations faded, and eventually the dust and distant sirens was all that remained.

Outshined.

Forgotten.

An extra in Izuku’s story.

He began the walk home; boots dragged through debris. Every muscle ached from the strain of the fight, overused gauntlets leaving burn marks on his forearms, the dirt in his eyes from the blast Izuku created, the small pieces of metal that burrowed deep in his skin from his One-pointer gambit.

He keeps replaying it.

Izuku in the air, arm cocked back, fist wrapped in a power John didn’t understand.

A strength Izuku was never supposed to have.

The memory slams into him again:

That night in the rain.

The skeletal man with sunken eyes.

Izuku vanishing for “training.”

The secrets. The distance. The subtle shifts.

John wanted to bury the jealousy. To be happy for his friend. To be supportive, like he’d always been.

“We were supposed to be a team,” John whispered with venom as he reaches his street, the quiet pressing down on him. The house greeted him with oppressive silence. His grandmother snored in the longue, the smell of smoke and wine attacked his nose. Entering the garage. His workshop lights flicker on, illuminating metal scraps, blueprints, failed inventions, new ideas that he once believed would bridge the gap between him and real heroes.

He collapsed into his chair. Only then does he realize his hands were trembling.

I failed

Tears fell from his eyes. John didn’t move, he didn’t know if he could. His chest was being crushed, an unforeseen force closing in on him. His hands were cold.

What’s happening?

He tried to breathe. In. Out. But the air felt thick. The world began to slant. That unforeseen force tightened its grip. His mind raced.

Damn it.

Hands curling into fists, nails digging deeper into his palms, the tremor refused to stop. It spread.

Stop. Stop. Stop

He said again. And then again, faster, sharper.

Not enough.

It’s not enough.

I’m not enough

Each beat of his heart is louder than the last, hammering like a fist on metal.

His eyes squeezed shut.

“John…?”

Izuku?

A shiver hits Johns spine.

He’s here.

he’s come to get me…

“J-John?”

He sees me.

He kneeled beside me, hands on my shoulders. I’m going to be ok.

“Hey—hey, breathe with me, okay? I’m here. Just breathe.”

His chest only tightened harder.

Izuku I’m sorry.

I’m so—so sorry…

Izuku?

“Izuku…”

His eyes finally open.

There was no one.

Nobody came to save him.

A cold wave surges, worse than the panic, sharper then pain.

Realization gnaws at him.

He’s not coming.

He doesn’t care.

Nobody Cares

Each breath comes shorter, quicker. He was drowning on dry land. With unsteady hands John grabbed a shard of scrap metal. Before placing it to his temple and pushing hard. In a desperate attempt to feel something else.

His thoughts raced.

Faster.
Faster.
Faster.

He didn’t need me today.

He didn’t even see me.

Everyone saw him.

Everyone cheered for him.

Everyone—

A small, broken sound escapes Johns throat.

The panic had reached its peak. His breath slowly pulls back, leaving his entire body trembling.
Breaths returning in ragged shudders.

The silence was deafening as blood dripped from his temple onto his cold floor. Drip. Drip. Drip.

I’m alone.

He didn’t come.

He wasn’t going to.

If Izuku is becoming the hero, we dreamed of being then what’s left for me?

John woke in a cold sweat.

He didn't remember passing out.

One second, he was arriving back from the exam and the next thing he knew everything went black.

The world returned in pieces. First, the cold. The concrete floor was unforgiving beneath his cheek, leeching heat from his once soft skin. His fingers twitched against it, stiff and unresponsive. His back ached. How long had he been laying here? Then the smell. Ozone. Sweat and something faintly coppery.

Blood.

When he finally manages to crack an eye open, the dim workshop light flickered absentmindedly overhead, casting the room in sickly pulses. The edges of his vision throbbed in time with the pounding in his skull.
His face felt tight.

When he lifted a shaky hand and touches his cheek, dried blood flakes off in a brittle crust. A line must’ve run from his nose all the way down to his jaw. His lips were cracked. His throat raw.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

A sharp, deliberate pounding rattled the garage door.

John blinked, forcing himself upright, every muscle screamed.

How long was I out?

He glances at the digital clock on his workbench.

4:03 AM.

A cold pulse travelled down his spine.

Why would anyone be here? At this hour? Who even knows I’m in here? What if it’s—

No.

Izuku wouldn’t come. Not at 4 AM. Not after today.

Why does that hurt so much?

After everything that’s happened why do I want him?

His stomach twists as another thought surfaces:

What if it’s Bakugo?

What if someone saw him collapse?

What if it’s his grandmother?

What if—

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Harder this time. He flinched.

His breath fogged slightly in the frigid air as he stood slowly. His legs trembled beneath him, barely remembering how to work. He wiped his face, in an attempt to look presentable, smudging the dried blood.

He must look like hell.

The knocking had stopped. John swallowed hard, throat tight and painfully dry. He took a single steadying breath.

Then, slowly, he griped the latch with trembling fingers and pulled the garage door open.

The cold night air slaps him awake—but not nearly as violently as the sight waiting on the other side.

it took a while before his eyes adjusted, noticing a long shadow bending behind a figure who stood too still to be considered human. The figure stepped forward just enough for the weak porchlights to catch his face.

John’s breath stops.

It was him. The man from the diner.

Here he stood face to face, the difference being now, without the comfort of the warm diner, fluorescent lights, or the distracting clatter of plates, he looked… different.

More exposed. More real. Far more intimidating. He was tall, or at least, taller than John remembered—his spine straight, shoulders squared, posture so perfect it bordered on unnatural. His clothes were ordinary enough: a dark coat buttoned to the throat, slacks pressed flat, shoes polished to an obsessive shine. Nothing about his silhouette was frightening. But up close, the darkness revealed the truth of his face. His face was pale and stretched. His skin looked like melted wax cooled on a corpse. Scar tissue climbed from the jaw to the temple like someone had taken a blade and carved through him again and again, then stitched him up just for the satisfaction of doing so. The skin puckered near the cheekbone, tugging one corner of his mouth into a permanent, warped smirk. That smile…

His eyes were the worst part. They were missing instead he had two flesh covered craters stretched and worn like leather left in the desert heat. It made John’s skin crawl.

He just stared back at him unmoving bar his chest inflating with every shallow breath, it’s too slow. Controlled in a way that feels rehearsed.

The man smiled fully, bared teeth, straight and white. The scars looked deeper, his expression splitting unnaturally across his face.

What are you?

He leans slightly forward.

“Good morning, John.” His voice was soft and yet unsettling like a scalpel laid gently against the skin. “I was wondering when you’d wake.” He continued.

John’s pulse hammered violently feeling it in his teeth.

The man’s grin grew, widened as he crouched under the metal door entering Johns workshop.

His aura was suffocating.

John didn't move. John couldn't move, instead he was petrified in fear.

The cold seeped from the doorway into his bones as the man drifted a little closer, floating almost.

“How—how do you know where I live?” John spat out.

The man’s response was a soft, velvety laugh. Picking up a blueprint off the workbench studying it for a second. “Oh, John… location is such a trivial thing. People are easy to find when they are not expecting to be followed.” His back was now to John. His hands folded behind his back, posture eerily straight. “I am a little disappointed John,” he says mildly. “Why didn’t you call?”

John swallowed hard.

“Why would I?” he snapped back, though his voice was fraying. “You show up out of nowhere, talk in riddles, stalk me. I’m not interested.”

“Not interested?” the man echoes, savouring the phrase, sounding almost sweet on his tongue as he turned strolling towards John. “Tell me, then…how did that work out tonight?”

John’s chest tightened.

Was he watching?

The man noticed the reaction. His grin slow and deliberate.

“You watched him soar, didn’t you?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “You watched him steal that moment. That applause. That awe. That girl.” He lifts a scarred hand and taps one finger against John’s sternum “You stood there. Motionless. Voiceless. Forgotten.”

John jerked back from the touch.

“Shut up.”

The man only tilts his head, studying him.

“No. I don’t think you want me to. You want the truth spoken aloud because you can’t bear to admit it yourself.”

“You thought he was behind you,” the man continues, stepping forward again. “Thought you’d be the one to enter U.A. The hero who protected the small and weak. Who’s weak now John?”

His voice softened to a dangerous purr.

“I can change that.”

The garage light flickers. The man’s smile widened once more. Stretching the scar tissue, making the right side of his face ripple unnaturally.

“I’m not offering you scraps, John.” He leaned even closer. “I’m offering you the means to rise on your own merit. The superiority you’ve been clawing toward since the day you lost everything.”

A dozen emotions collide anger, grief, betrayal, humiliation… and beneath all of it, something darker. Something hungry.

The man watched it all unfold behind John’s eyes.

“Walk away again,” he murmured, voice like a blade, “and you’ll stay exactly where you were tonight. Behind him. Watching him shine.”

The silence cuts deeper than the words.

And still—

the man’s smile doesn’t falter.

Not once.

A part of John wants to scoff, to laugh in the man’s face and return to his workshop full of half-finished dreams.

Another part… the part still trembling from the panic attack, the part that just watched Izuku Midoriya rise like a comet while he stayed grounded. That part leaned in.

"Why do you talk like that?" John mutters, but his voice cracked at the edges. "Like you already know me. Like you know what I want."

The man’s grin softened not kinder, but sharper, more precise.

"Oh, John. I don’t know what you want. I know what you feel."

John swallows hard.

“I was once in your shoes.” The man taps the scarred finger against his own temple. "Hours in a workshop. Bleeding for every invention. Pushing my Quirk until I couldn’t anymore. All for what? To be second place?”

John couldn’t look away.

"You felt it today, didn’t you?" the man continued, stepping closer, voice dropping to a murmur meant only for John.

"That sinking weight. Like something inside you snapped when he shot into the sky. When everyone stared at him."

His smile finally faded into something quieter.

"That loneliness. That question you didn’t want to think: If he doesn’t need you anymore… who are you?"

John’s vision became a blur. This man read him like a book every word was meant to connect and it did with precision. He pressed his palm on his workbench to steady himself.

"It’s not like that…" he tries, but the words crumble. "He—he didn’t mean to"

"Leave you behind?" the man finishes softly. "No. Of course not. The people closest to us rarely mean the wounds they inflict."

Johns eyes shut, jaw trembling.

He sees Izuku’s face in his mind. A face that didn’t look back.

A face that:

Didn’t search for him.
Didn’t call out for him.
Didn’t need him.

That same hint of smoke entered Johns nostrils as the man finally closed the gap between them.

"You’re hurting, John. You’re exhausted. You’re tired of being last. Tired of being forgotten.”

John’s breath comes unsteady now, chest rising too fast.

He can’t deny it.

He can’t hide it.

Not from someone who’s staring directly into his soul.

"Tell me," the man murmured. His voice a razor wrapped in silk. "Do you really want to feel like this again? Watching someone else take the spotlight you bled for? Watching someone you saved, surpass you without a backward glance?"
John’s shoulders sag.

He felt small.

He felt exposed.

Desperate to matter, desperate to climb, desperate to not be left behind again.

He lifted his eyes, blazing with something raw.

"...What do you want from me?"

The man’s smile returned. "Only your dedication," he says. "Your hunger. Everything else… we’ll build together."

A moment passed.

“No.”

“I don’t need… whatever this is,” John continued, voice steadier than his thoughts. “I’ll make it on my own. I’ll do it my way.”

For a heartbeat, the workshop was silent.

The man doesn’t scowl. Doesn’t sneer. Doesn’t lash out like John half expected. Instead, that same grin remained, carved into his face.

“Bold,” he laughed. “Painfully naïve… but bold.”

He takes a single step back, the shadows folding around his figure, eager to reclaim him. Then, with a practiced flick of his wrist, he draws another card from his coat. Throwing it forward gliding effortlessly until it stopped perfectly at John’s feet.

“Fair enough,” he says, silk-smooth, patient. “I won’t force you.”

But before John can exhale in relief, the man steps in again even closer than before. A hand rises landing on the boys shoulder. A gentle touch. Almost pleasent.

And then, A spark. A shiver. Something slipping under his skin, too soft and too swift to name.

John gasped but the sensation vanished before he could register it.

He felt so cold.

“Consider that…” the man says lazily, withdrawing his hand, “…a gift for the future.”

John’s breath shakes. “What the hell did you just…?”

“All in good time.” The man cuts him off, already stepping backward into the darkness of the doorway. “Call me when you’re ready. Opportunity doesn’t wait forever, but I—unlike the world you chase—am patient.”
He turns, shadows seemingly swallowing him whole.

“Wait.”

The man pauses.

“…What’s your name?”

A low chuckle rises from the darkness. He doesn’t turn around when he answers.

“How rude of me, call me All for One.”

And then he was gone.

John was left alone.

A theme that was becoming all too common.

He closed his eyes.

He saw Izuku’s smile, bright and battered.

He hears the crowd from the exam.

He remembers the terror. The feeling of being stuck in someone else’s shadow.

But then another memory rises:

The reason he started this dream in the first place.

Not to be number one. Not to win. But to help. To protect. To be the kind of hero who reaches out even when nobody’s reaching back.

To be the hero he wished he had.

“No shortcuts,” He began to walk towards his bed with the single fragile, burning truth inside him:

He is terrified. He is behind. He is broken in ways he doesn’t want to admit. But he will rise his way. He will become a hero his way. No matter what comes next.

His head rested on the pillow before being taken under.

Unable to feel a cold flame flickering within himself.